


h a u n t e d.

by furiosawrites



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: And her... coming to terms with her gay-ness, As Beca battles her first love, F/F, F/M, Honestly I have no idea where this is even going any more, I REPEAT: I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I AM DOING, I didn't have a plan when I started and I certainly don't have one now lmao, I promise you guys that, I'm so happy I can post this here I think I'm going to cry, LMAO, Multi, Prepare to embark on a rollercoaster of emotions, So writing this fic is as much of a surprise as reading it, There will be angst-ish, There will be lots of things in this fic, There'll be LOTS of things happening, also, but anyways, extremely au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3986422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiosawrites/pseuds/furiosawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's what you do, it's what you see. I know if I'm haunting you... you must be haunting me. It's where we go; it's where we'll be... I know if I'm on to you... you must be on to me." Becomissar AU, rated M.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

So Beca’s having a grand time, right? It doesn’t matter that her outside is not exactly matching her inside. She’s the type of person that’s not very good at communicating her emotions through facial expressions. Or words, now that she thinks of it— but anyway; she’s having a blast. Even if they lost, and even if Jesse left without saying goodbye, she’s still enjoying this party. It’s free booze in some old, creepy bald dude’s basement but the music’s good and as much as she hates to admit it, Das Sound Machine do sound amazing. That little Jump number they did straight after they won was… contagious, for lack of a better word.  But that’s not  _all_  they do amazingly. It doesn’t really count as _staring_  if she’s watching them all dancing and laughing,  _right_?! Maybe, just maybe, she’s a little too focused on a particular six foot tall blonde who just happens to be wearing a shade of red lipstick that looks like she just murdered a man and conquered a country – and why, in Madonna’s name that is attractive, Beca isn’t really sure at all. Over all, the Kommissar (and really Kommissar  _can’t_  be her real name, unless her parents were some army freaks) is an unwanted distraction and an overwhelming source of… confusion. Yes. That’s it. She’s a tall, hot, blonde mess of confusion that just makes Beca dizzy and flustered. 

Beca Mitchell does not do dizzy and flustered. 

It took her weeks to even admit to herself she had a thing for Jesse, yet it only took her seconds to admit that she felt  _very_  sexually attracted towards that damned German Goddess. 

She’s been pondering over that a lot, lately. She’s had a few accidents with the coffee machine, just pondering that, actually—  _am I gay?_  Not that it mattered. She’s cool with it, if she is gay. Or bisexual. It doesn’t matter, right? Her father would be cool with it. Not that, that, mattered, either—but oh God, see?! That’s what this woman does to her, and Beca is telling herself as she sips… what seems to be root beer in a plastic red cup, that she’s not staring at the Kommissar and that funny robotic way she dances. She tells herself that she is not, under any circumstances, watching the way she moves her hips, the way her fishnet shirt moves and shows, no,  _teases_  the world with more of that pale, smooth flesh that Beca wants to——-  _no, no. No, brain, don’t go there_. 

Right. So she’s having lots of fun. 

At least the beer’s good, and Fat Amy seems to be having fun. She can’t find Chloe anywhere. The others seem to be dancing and drinking, scattered around the room— she’s not even going to bother to try and find Stacie. They’re all old enough to look after themselves, right? With the exception of The Legacy, but she seems to be clinging to Fat Amy’s shadow and trying to avoid their creepy host, who seems to have some sort of personal vendetta after the poor girl spluttered out her original song during the riff-off. 

But the only reason she’s still here when she has to be up super early tomorrow is that she’s enjoying the view. More than she’s ready to admit, even to herself. And she found this amazing spot, where it’s kind of dark and she’s hidden from view, unless you’re  _really_  looking for her, and this is how she likes to be at parties. Hidden and close to the bathrooms/emergency exits. Better safe than sorry, right? 

She thinks she’s safe and sound, here, that no one will find her or bother her… until she feels eyes on her. She knows who these eyes belong to before she even looks at her again. The last time she looked… she was busy dancing, her back turned on her… but now… 

_There_  she is.  _Her tormentor_. Standing in the designated dance floor, staring at Beca as if she’s the only person in the world right now, that teasing smirk playing on those full, red and deliciously inviting lips. Beca can hear that deep, sultry accentuated voice in her head: “ _Why do you hide, feisty mouse?_ ” And that’s what her smirk says, that’s what her hips say as they move in a way that should be illegal, and Beca finds herself staring, hypnotized, at the way they move, the way she moves up and down, hands over her head, fingers going through her hair. She swallows the knot in her throat and grips her plastic cup so tight when Kommissar turns around and starts rolling her hips in the most sensual manner possible that she… gets root beer all over her shirt. Great. Perfect.  _Fucking fantastic_. “Shit!” She mutters under her breath, putting the cup away as she looks down her shirt to assess the damage. Now she’s going to smell like beer, but that’s not even the worst part— it’s the fact that when she looks up she finds those gorgeous eyes looking at her and she’s laughing at her. Why is the sight of her laughing so…  _ugh_!  
  
Beca storms out of that stuffy basement, her pale cheeks flushing an angry red as she stomps her way up the stairs. She’s in a corridor. Okay, she remembers it from when they came in… but where’s the exit? Most importantly, where can she find a bathroom? This house seems huge, and she’s too angry to go hunting for a bathroom right now, so she simply opens the first door she finds which happens to be some sort of storage room. Or laundry room? She’s not sure. There’s two washing machines, a drying machine and a shelf with various assorted items— but there’s also a sink, and that will do, she presumes.

She feels disgusting already, and terrible, and just a minute ago she was fine and dandy and somewhat enjoying this despite hating social gatherings and being in a room surrounded by people. Despite all her DJ gigs. She likes the music, not the environment or the people. But well, these a capella nerds aren’t so bad, really. But it’s not them that’s the problem. She turns on the sink and starts to pull her shirt over her head, muttering: “Fucking German as—“ 

“What was that, little mouse?” 

_Oh, fuck me_. Beca’s first reaction is to lean against the sink defensively and to hold up her shirt over her bare chest as she’s met with the most arousing sight she’s ever seen. Kommissar is standing on the doorway, leaning against the door frame, a hand on her hip and a finger twirling around a strand of golden hair. She’s chewing her bottom lip, or more… sucking it in, and her eyes are focused on Beca. They move up and down her body like she’s measuring her up, but there’s more than just superiority in those heavenly blue eyes right now. “You said German. And fucking. In the same sentence. I wonder where you were going with that… what was it— aaaah! Train of thought?” She quirks an eyebrow at Beca and smiles mockingly at her, which only frustrates Beca further. The water’s still running and the environmentalist inside her rages at how careless she’s being, at how she’s acting like this is the first time she has a crush…  
  
And isn’t it? Has she ever, truly, ever felt this unbearable, animal attraction towards anyone, in her entire life? But it’s also more than that— there’s this magnetic force around Kommissar that Beca can’t fight. It breaks down all her shields, wrecks her walls. She feels vulnerable, exposed, and it’s not only when she is shirtless and holding a shirt over her chest in a laundry room in some stranger’s house. They only met twice, and yet Beca feels that this… attraction thing is only going to get worse. “I— I— err, I— no. I— what are you doing here?! You were— you were doing… you were dancing!” Kommissar chuckled; a deep, beautiful sound that sent shivers down Beca’s spine. She moves slowly, slower than she did at that car show, stepping into the room, shutting the door behind her. Beca can’t help but compare her to a cat, as she takes slow steps towards her, and Beca steps to the side, until she feels her naked back against the wall. To break away from those intense eyes she closes the tap and is glad at least not to have the background sound of the water running. It was driving her mad. Her knuckles are white because she’s got a vice grip on the tap _. This tap is the most interesting thing in this room_ , she tells herself.

Oh, but sweet naïve Beca… 

Kommissar is like a predator. A strong, vicious cat cornering the scared little mouse. Her soft but rather large hand rests atop Beca’s, and she grins a particularly toothy grin because it’s just so amusing to watch the tiny girl whimper. Her breath hitches in her throat, and her eyes close as Kommissar’s thumb brushes over the back of her hand. “Ya, little mouse,” she begins, as if she has all the time in the world. Slowly, stepping closer, closer… “I was dancing. Then I saw that you scurried away… I thought:  _Hmm, what is the little mouse after_? Cheese, perhaps.” Her thumb moves over Beca’s knuckles, and like she’s butter her body melts and she struggles to remain standing right now, thankful the wall is there for solid support. Her grip on the tap relaxes, but Kommissar is not satisfied. She takes another step closer, Beca presses her back against the wall, hissing as she feels the cold bricks against her warm skin. 

“I got beer on my shirt.” Why is it so difficult to say the simplest of things around her? “Your… your breath smells like mint… and damn it. Why are your hands so soft?!” That laugh again. Damn her. Damn her to hell. 

“I moisturise often,” Kommissar purrs, her voice lower. 

“What do you want?” The question is more like a bark, and Beca’s eyes are burning hot coals as they look up into those icy clouds of calmness. It infuriates her even more. She steps forward, forgets she’s holding her shirt over her bare chest and moves a hand to push Kommissar away— but it’s not enough for her to be physically flawless, she has to be perfect in every sense. She catches Beca’s wrist just in time, her hold soft yet firm, and the hand that had been on top of Beca’s has now her other wrist in hold and before she knows it, Kommissar has both her arms above her head, has her pinned to the wall. 

There’s an exact two inch distance between their bodies. Beca’s chest is moving up and down rapidly, her rather… lacking chest area far too close to Kommissar’s. The taller, older woman is staring down at Beca like a cat who’s very curious how the tiny mouse is still alive after their rough play time… 

“ _What do I want?_ ” Again with the mocking, but even when she’s mocking her, Kommissar sounds seductive. “What do  _you_ want, little mouse? You think I did not see you watching me dance? But like a little mouse… you run away…” Beca makes an undignified sound and struggles against Kommissar’s hold, which she only now starts to notice is tight. “I do not run away!” But her hands end up finding Kommissar’s, and somehow, in her anger and sexual frustration, she’s… 

_Fucked_ ; because Kommissar opened her mouth, probably ready to say something sassy and rude and which Beca would try to reply with an insult that was really a confused compliment, but she decided that somehow, it was better to just avoid the embarrassment and… kiss her. 

It’s not like she hasn’t been thinking about doing that ever since she first hear  _little mouse_  from those full lips at the car show. It’s not like she hasn’t been daydreaming about touching said lips, feeling their texture, the taste… 

She tastes like strawberry bubblegum. 


	2. Two.

There were many ways this night could have ended… she pictured herself competing (and winning) against other a capella groups, or doing something awesome like she always managed to under the pressure of a riff-off. She’s been doing this for three years– she has the hang of it by now. Or so she thinks. But well; there were many ways she imagined this would go when she walked into the basement. There were a lot of things she saw herself doing. Most of them involved standing and pretending to dance in a dark corner or drinking until she felt drunk enough to have an excuse to leave early and sleep. She’s such an old lady in these regards– but oh well, she has managed pretty well so far. For someone who didn’t even want to go to College in the first place… she is now walking away with a degree and friends she knows she will keep for life. 

But out of all the situations and scenarios in her head…  _this_ , well… this, had definitely been the  _last_ on her list. She, admittedly, haven’t even had time to fantasize about Kommissar yet. About any of this. She’s confused… yes. Angry and frustrated. But she seems to…  _stop thinking_  around the tall, drop-dead gorgeous D.S.M lead. 

Which would have been  _fine_ , if she wasn’t topless, kissing her against the wall– or  _being_  kissed against the wall, since she is the one against the wall? But she was the one who leaned forward and started the kiss in the first place! 

_Right, because this is really the right time to be worrying about this kind of technicalities, Rebeca, you fool_. 

It was strange at first. Terrifying after a second. The second her lips touched Kommissar’s, which, as expected… were soft like two perfect heavenly-flavoured cotton candy balls, she closed her eyes and let the sensations that sent her senses on a frenetic frenzy take over her. Kissing Kommissar feels like kissing an angel would probably feel like. And it was strange because she felt her body go rigid– for a heartbeat, she was terrified that she would be rejected, that the teasing and the flirting had been in her head and that Kommissar was really doing all of this to get into her head, to mess her up, to prove how inferior she was, how the Bellas had no aca-chance of winning Worlds when they were competing with the likes of D.S.M. 

But it only last four seconds; Kommissar’s hesitation, that is. Beca counted. Four seconds of pure panic in which she wanted the ground to swallow her whole… but then… she felt those deliriously soft lips apply just enough pressure against her own that she knows this is reciprocated, that she’s not going crazy. 

It’s sweet and curious and experimental at first. She feels twelve again. Feels just as nervous as she did when she had her first kiss– the heartbeat, clammy palms, the butterflies:  _check, check and check!_

The scary thing is that… she never felt any of these things with Jesse. Or any of the boys she dated.

But she decides to not focus on these things now. And it becomes increasingly harder to think coherent thoughts because Kommissar nibbles on her bottom lip, licking it soon after until Beca parts her lips in a moan and welcomes her tongue inside her mouth. 

That’s when the passion hits. 

Like they were both ignited by an invisible fire, Kommissar’s hands moved to Beca’s hips, and the feelings of those warm, soft hands on her bare skin, those fingers digging into her flesh, sparked something within Beca that she had never felt before. She didn’t care that they were in some stranger’s house or that she barely knew this woman. Or that she had a loving, dorky boyfriend.  _No_. None of that even registered in her mind, right now. She  _wanted_  Kommissar, like a fish wants water, like fire wants wood, like a girl on her period wants chocolate. It’s… it’s like she’s possessed by this horny demon of lust and she wants Kommissar’s clothes off, she wants her mouth all over her body, she wants this fire to consume her, she wants to burn to death and die with  _Kommissar_  on her lips. 

Usually this kind of… intense emotion would freak Beca out. And it probably will, once she comes off this German Goddess induced high… she usually can’t handle strong emotions. Not all at once like this. 

She gives in and moves her hands to Kommissar’s waist, tilting her head to offer a better angle. She’s somewhat tip-toeing and Kommissar is bent down, but neither of them seem to particularly mind. Her fingers inch upward the bare stomach… how can a human being’s flesh be so damn soft?! Does Kommissar bathe in baby’s tears?! She doesn’t think she will ever be able to stop touching her, and so her fingers move up her flat stomach, brush over her bra. She wants to cup her breasts, wants to know how it feels to touch a woman so intimately, but she’s afraid— there’s definitely hesitation in the way she touches Kommissar, like she’s afraid of doing something wrong… it should be simpler than this, instinct should be kicking in right about now, but she’s starting to panic… and she’s glad when Kommissar distracts her with her tongue, one of her hands now cupping Beca’s cheek, the other holding the back of her head, and somehow they’re kissing like they’re both trying to suck each other’s soul off the other’s body. She feels like even this kiss is a competition between them. Who can be more passionate? Who’s a better kisser?! 

Isn’t it enough that she’s tall, gorgeous and painfully talented? That her group won? Isn’t it enough that she gets into Beca’s head and drives her insane? Apparently not, because Kommissar bites down on her bottom lip so hard Beca can’t help but moan rather loudly, not even able to distinguish that fine line between pleasure and pain. 

This… all of this, feels too good, it almost feels like a sin. 

In the back of her mind, she’s thinking about Jesse and how much this would hurt him. They’ve been together for three years now. They had plans for the future,  _together_. 

This makes her break the kiss, panting and flushed and confused and aroused, she feels those tantalizing lips move down to her neck, teeth and tongue teasing her soft, pale flesh. She’s biting, licking, sucking; and she bites down on a particularly sensitive patch hard enough that Beca knows there will be a bruise, and she hisses as her hips arch forward, off the wall and towards Kommissar. Of course the German temptress takes advantage of that. Beca can feel and hear her muffled chuckling as she grabs Beca’s hips with firm, strong hands and presses their hips together. 

_Who’s Jesse?!_  Because the second their hips touch she’s  _grinding_  against Kommissar like a  _horny dog_. She’s not even drunk, she has no excuse for this behaviour—but Kommissar has had a bit to drink. Beca can taste alcohol, but she can also taste mint and strawberry bubblegum and happiness. _This is probably what unicorns taste like_. 

“No, damn it— don’t mark me,” she hears a hoarse, breathless voice that doesn’t sound like her at all whimper, and she’s met with dark blue eyes and kiss-swollen full lips. Her lipstick is all smudged and Beca figures that so is her face. She wants to laugh. She’d never thought her face would be all marked with a woman’s lipstick. “Why not?” God, how is it possible that her voice has gone deeper?! Beca whimpers, mewls like a little kitten, forcing her hips against Kommissar’s which she responds to by moving a hand to Beca’s ass. Oh. Fuck. “Hhhhnn— don’t— I—!” She’s met with hoarse, lust-filled laughs that are so sensual they are certainly illegal and a sin, and hungry lips that kiss her throat as she throws her head back, and enjoys the way their hips move against one another, the way Kommissar’s hand cups her ass, and her own find those perfect-sized breasts and she squeezes and feels the fullness in her hands and finds it all so exhilarating. 

_This is the first day of my life. I think I was blind before I met you_. 

She has never felt so alive. She can feel every inch of her skin burning, her lungs, her heart beating, and her blood boiling. She feels everything so perfectly, so clear, like all her senses had been dead before this moment. This is beyond cinematic. It’s… it’s just  _right_. “I—“ 

Another chuckle, so deep, so sensual as she feels a knee against the middle of her legs, and as she lets out a particularly…  _inappropriate_  sound, she bucks against it, rolls her hips against it, finds herself  _needing_  the friction more than her lungs need air right now. “What is the matter, little mouse? Cat got your tongue?” She can’t help but laugh breathlessly at that because she has to admit it, it’s pretty funny. And truthful. There’s a fine cat who’s left her incapable of speech. Of functioning properly.  “ _Shut up_ ,” she commands, or rather giggles as her hands cup that gorgeous face and her lips find Kommissar’s again. 

The next few minutes are made of her and Kommissar grinding, feeling, kissing each other like there’s no tomorrow. When they break apart she’s lost track of time, she forgets what time itself means, and they’re both so drunk on each other that they’re both giggling at how ridiculous this really is, the tall German robot-like woman leaning her forehead against the tiny, anger-fuelled woman who would never normally do anything remotely similar to this.  _What is it about her? Why is she so different from everyone else? Why does she make me feel this way?_  She opens her eyes and drinks in the sight of Kommissar with a frozen smile on her lips, trying to catch her breath. 

“You’re… so beautiful,” Beca whispers, her fingers tracing those high cheekbones lovingly. Kommissar is drunk, but not just on Beca, and so she laughs, no, giggles, rubbing the bridge of her nose against Beca’s. “Thank you, little mouse,” her hands are on Beca’s hips when she opens her eyes and pulls away to smile down at her. Actually, smile. No teasing. “As are you.” 

Oh God, she’s never blushed this hard in her entire life. What is happening? They’re meant to be… arch-nemesis or something like that, and here they are… and she feels more comfortable around this strange woman than she ever felt around her three-year boyfriend. The cold wall against her back and the fact she’s shirtless hasn’t even bothered her at all, and when she looks down at her bare chest, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red, Kommissar laughs. “I like your… hmm, I like your lacy bra…” Her finger plays with the fabric of Beca’s bra, and she can’t remember how to breathe. “I like yours.” She really does. She’s been staring at it all night long, after all. 

Her hands settle on the small of Kommissar’s back whilst she feels her fingers moving over her face; her thumb over her cheeks, over her lips. Beca is lost in her deep blue eyes, swimming, _drowning_. She doesn’t know how long they stand there, leaning against each other, staring into each other’s eyes. It’s not until Kommissar starts kissing her neck again that the maddening passion returns and before she knows what’s what…  
  
She’s sitting on top of one of the washing machine with Kommissar between her legs and somewhere along the way her bra ended up on the floor and she’s feeling soft, warm hands on her small breasts, teasing her nipples, making her moan into Kommissar’s mouth, her arms wrapped tight around her neck as her fingers undo that fancy bun she has her hair on, running her fingers through that fine golden hair… and she’s sure that her first time with a woman is going to be in a laundry/storage room of a stranger’s house, until she feels her phone buzzing against her thigh.

Just in time, because Kommissar had unzipped her jeans, and her fingers were crawling into her underwear. Beca pulled away from her, holding her hand in place. “I— I have to—“ The German lead was really impatient and hungry. She made a sound that was… too arousing to be a growl, nibbling Beca’s neck. “No, you do not.” Beca groaned, grasping a fistful of Kommissar’s hair as the other hand fished for her phone. She’s trying to see who’s calling her right now through heavy-lidded eyes until–  
  
“There’s no one here, Bumper, why would there be anyone in—“

Fat Amy bursts into the room, holding Bumper’s hand. Her eyes widen at the sight she’s surely ran into, and so has Bumper’s. Beca’s in such a shock it takes her a while to react. Kommissar, however, is much quicker than her, even if she’s not completely sober, and she’s quick to wrap her strong arms around Beca’s torso and protect her from Bumper’s view. There’s a… protective air to her right now as she holds the semi-naked Bella against her body, and Beca flushes in ways she shouldn’t, given the situation, feeling… feeling things she never thought she’d feel. She felt protected. Wanted beyond reason, and even if she’s holding her phone, which is buzzing with Jesse’s name on the screen, her arms are wrapped loosely around Kommissar. “—in here. Err……. Beca? Should we _…” Go away? Disappear? Yes, you should_. 

But this serves as a wakeup call, and she’s suddenly hit with the realization of who she is and what she’s doing and how unfair it is to the boy who’s calling her right now. “No, it’s— it’s fine, Fat Amy, I’m—“ She has the decency to turn her back on them and push Bumper out of the room at least, as Beca gently pushes Kommissar away from her, dressing faster than she has ever done in her entire life. 

When she’s… presentable, or, well,  _dressed_ , she runs out of the room, past Fat Amy and Bumper and ignoring Kommissar calling after her. 

She doesn’t stop until she’s outside, leaning against a pillar, breathing so heavy she’s sure she’s about to have a panic attack. She doesn’t know what to do. She feels terrible and the worst thing is that she felt  _so good_. She really forgot about everything and everyone in those perfect moments she spent with Kommissar inside that room, and it’s hard to focus on anything besides the fact she knows she betrayed Jesse but that’s… not even the scariest part.  
  
The scariest part is that she realizes now, as she’s almost running towards her car, that she just  _fell in love_  with Kommissar, and she’s not sure if it happened when she saw her singing on stage or somewhere between their kisses… but one thing she knows for  _sure_ : she  _has_ to run before she ends up turning back around, because if she does, she knows she will drown in that woman’s arms.

What happened in that room,  _stays_  in that room. Forever. She’s going to have to have a little talk with Fat Amy and Bumper later. 


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this chapter is slow and boring but it was necessary so I could move on with the story. I wanted it to be “short and sweet” and well, it was mostly Beca running away from her feelings. Usual. But in the next chapters she will be forced to deal with her emotions a LOT more, and that will include confrontations-- not only with Kommissar. Also thank you all SO much for all your comments and feedback I am BEYOND loving all this love.

_When tomorrow comes, I'll be on my own, feeling frightened of the things that I don't know... when tomorrow comes, when tomorrow comes._

The sound of a sweet voice is what wakes her up that morning, instead of her alarm. It's not even eight in the morning and The Legacy is already up in the shower, singing. Her original song. She has some balls if she is singing that song the morning after they lose the riff-off because she sang that song... Chloe would _freak_ out. But Beca likes the sound of her voice, and as she sits up on her bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she finds herself _really_... listening to the lyrics.

But she doesn’t get to listen to the rest because someone bangs on the door and the Legacy stops singing— still though, it’s a more pleasant way to wake up than her alarm.

As is the… norm for her, she reaches for her phone, checking the time, and if she has any important emails, or texts. Nothing on the email front… but Jesse has left her a lot of texts. Mostly asking her where she was, why she disappeared last night. She thought he had left, but apparently she had been wrong… but right now, she doesn’t want to talk to Jesse, because when she touches her neck she can feel that her skin is bruised and it only takes her a minute before she’s feeling strong hands on her body and hungry lips claiming her own.

So much for having a _chilled_ morning.

She gets up and follows her usual morning routine anyway— she picks an outfit. Black colours, as usual, takes a quick shower, puts on some eye-liner and lip-gloss. Half an hour and she’s ready, or as ready as she’ll ever be.

Just as she’s making coffee and toast for the go, The Legacy comes in with something in her hands. “Hey, Beca, this guy just delivered this. It’s for you.” She places a basket on the counter, and it only takes Beca one good look at it before she knows who sent it, and what it meant.

It was a basket filled with mini muffins, and fruits. No note. _Nothing_. Just a basket, full of different kinds of fruits and mini muffins.  

Without saying anything to a very confused Legacy, she grabs the basket and storms out of the house, making a beeline for her car in the hopes that no one else would have seen her. If Chloe or Stacie or Fat Amy saw that basket… they would make the connection straight away. Chloe would probably have noticed that she and Kommissar had both disappeared at the same time last night— she usually noticed these kind of things, so she’s… well, she’s being safe, right? She’s not _hiding_ anything. The Legacy knows. She’ll probably tell them all about.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because she’s driving now, and she puts on her radio and focuses on the music instead of that damned gorgeous German or the basket of wonderful, delicious, _probably_ **very** expensive fruits and mini muffins sitting on her passenger seat.

* * *

 

And the rest of the day sort of goes like that, really; Beca constantly fighting a losing battle against her head, to focus on anything that wasn’t Kommissar. Is that even her real name? It can’t be. So she’s in love with a woman she knows literally nothing about, and she can’t stop thinking about her – not even for a full minute, and it’s driving her insane. Things were never this bad with Jessie. No. It took time before she was thinking about him a lot… it took time for her to even admit she tolerated his company… she had never… felt things for anyone like this.

It was like… like being hit by a car. Not that she’s ever been hit by a car, but what she imagines it would feel like.

You’re there, crossing the road, doing your own thing, not hurting anyone… then suddenly this huge metal box of death hits you so hard and it knocks you off your feet and stabs the air out of your lungs and _that’s it_.

She planned on throwing the basket away, or giving it to a kid or a homeless person or something. But instead, she finds herself sitting in her car in a car park close to her house, stuffing her face in mini muffins and hot chocolate. It can’t get any worse than this, because she’s also listening to this awful mixed tape she made for Jesse once but never had the courage to give it to him because it was really terrible and far too romantic for her taste.

Yet it feels appropriate right now. _Destiny, why do you hate me so much?_ But she can’t blame destiny or anyone else besides herself, can she?

And this is not so bad, really. It could be worse. She could be at a bar drinking or she could be having sex with Jesse. That would be the worst thing to do to try and cope with this. She may not know how to deal with these unexpected feelings, but she knows that having sex with her boyfriend is not one of the ways to deal with them. No. She’s not that kind of person. She already feels bad enough that she cheated on him.

Oh, God. She _cheated_ on him.

The worst part of it all is that she and Jesse are best friends. They tell each other _everything_ ; how is she going to tell him this? _Hey, I’m gay and I’m in love with that hot German bitch that kicked our ass at the riff-off, remember?!_ No. She can’t do that to him. She can’t— oh, that’s probably him. Her phone is beeping and she doesn’t want to see what he wants, but she does anyway, shoving the rest of her muffin in her mouth as she opens the message and…  
  
It’s not Jesse.

 _Do little mouse prefer cheese to mini muffins?_ – UNKNOWN NUMBER.

How the **_HELL_** did she find Beca’s number?! She supposes maybe it wouldn’t have been _that_ hard, considering she _is_ the leader of the Barden Bellas and a lot of people in the a cappella community have her number. That doesn’t mean that she’s happy about this. Happy is probably the only emotion she’s _not_ feeling right. There’s a whole storm of emotions inside her, and happy is nowhere near any of them. She almost chokes on her muffin, and it seems to go down slower and harder than the others did as she tries to process this. This means that she has Kommissar’s number, and Kommissar has hers. This means there’s a means of communication between them that there wasn’t before… if she replies… if she starts a conversation… this goes beyond what she’s ready to deal right now. She doesn’t want to text her. Doesn’t want to call her. She doesn’t want to hear her voice in the morning, and she’s definitely not wondering what hearing her drunken giggle in her ear late at night would be like— and dear God, she is most definitely **_NOT_** wondering if Kommissar was the type of girl that sent naughty snapchats of herself to people she was flirting with.

Beca leans against her seat, closes her eyes, and tries to remember that she is only human and that feeling sexually frustrated by someone as gorgeous as Kommissar was perfectly natural. She bets that if she mentions it, even Jesse probably has a toner for her. Who doesn’t? She’s an angel, perfect in every way.

Why is she texting Beca, in the first place? _Why won’t she leave me alone?_ Maybe this is all just a game for her, really, and Beca is really just a tiny mouse that she wants to play with.

Well, she won’t be anyone’s plaything. Or…

 _STOP texting me_. – Beca.

She really has no self-control, does she? And it surprises her when her phone buzzes a minute later.

 _Such rudeness… won’t you thank me for the delicious treats? ;)_ – UNKNOWN NUMBER.

 _I didn’t ask for delicious treats! OR for you to text me!!! They weren’t that good anyway_. – Beca.

 _So you did eat them_. – UNKNOWN NUMBER.

She won’t reply. She’ll end this conversation right here. She shoves another muffin in her mouth and finishes her drink, determined to drive back home and flush her phone down the toilet. 

 _There will be another party tomorrow night. A riff-off for… professional a capella singers. Why don’t you bring your little friends along to know what you are really up against, little mouse?_ – UNKNOWN NUMBER.

 _Wear something nice_. – Devil woman.

* * *

Two hours later and she’s trying to convince the Bellas that this is a good idea. Whatever this thing is; and well, there wasn’t much convincing that had to be done. As soon as she’s mentioned the opportunity to kick D.S.M’s butt everyone was pretty much in, though a minute or two later Chloe was somewhat suspicious. Beca had to make up an excuse that she saw a flyer somewhere. Then she said someone had called her. Then she panicked and pretended that Jesse was calling her and locked herself upstairs in her bedroom.

Whatever was going to happen at this party, she had to be ready. She’s going to go because she needs to explain a few things to Kommissar – like how she can’t just ask someone for her number and text her like that, how she doesn’t want to break her best friend’s heart and that she’s not interested in whatever Kommissar wants. That she’s determined to keep their professional rivalry intact, without needing to take their clothes off in the process.

But as she’s staring at the hickey on her neck in her mirror she knows all of that are lies, and that no matter how hard she denies herself this, she wants it, she wants it so bad, and she’s really bad at stopping herself from doing the things she wants to do.

As she lays in bed staring at her ceiling and listening to her Spotify playlist, she decides that Kommissar is truly the devil and she’s here to test her strength, or something. The lord **MUST** be testing her, right? Her life was finally starting to go somewhere. _I know if I’m on to you, you must be haunting me…_ Yeah. Okay. Skip that track.

It’s enough to be _haunted_ by this devil woman without having a song about it playing in her ears, too.

But even in her dreams she can’t help herself. She can’t stop her thoughts, her dreams. And they’re all about Kommissar, and that night, and the way she felt, and the way she _still_ feels.

Whatever happens tomorrow night, she’s going to put a stop to this – whatever, this is. She fell in love in a matter of seconds, she can fall out of love that easily, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am SO SO SO sorry that I made you guys wait this long. I am a terrible person, but things have been a bit hectic for me. I hope this Chapter is worth the wait, though. Hope you guys enjoy it – and remember, reviews inspire me to write MORE. (I just love reading how you lot react to this, heh.)

**A/N** : I am SO SO SO sorry that I made you guys wait this long. I am a terrible person, but things have been a bit hectic for me. I hope this Chapter is worth the wait, though. Hope you guys enjoy it – and remember, reviews inspire me to write MORE. (I just love reading how you lot react to this, heh.)

* * *

It was already ten minutes past the time they had all agreed to meet downstairs to drive to this riff-off party thing that Beca had told them about last night, and yet Beca was still upstairs, getting ready. Most of the girls were sitting downstairs or in the kitchen, waiting for everyone to come down - the only people who remained upstairs were Beca, Fat Amy, and Emily. Which is strange. Beca is the type of girl who gets ready in like, ten minutes. Maybe less than that. She was the first in the house to shower and she's still not ready.

There's something odd about that.

"I'm going upstairs to check on Beca," she announces to the others, and no one really seems to care. Stacie looks up from her phone with a bored expression on her face, and the two Jessicas say something she doesn't bother paying much attention to - Lily says something she doesn't hear, so she just nods and leaves, climbing up the stairs to Beca and Fat Amy's bedroom... the room she's most familiar with in the house, besides her own. She's spent a lot of time in that room. Always trying to get Beca to open up to her... always trying to get Beca to kiss her. She's been trying for four years now, no luck. She's admitted lately that maybe Beca just wasn't into girls at all, like she had thought; because it would be insane for Beca not to be into her. Chloe's hot. Really hot. Any sane lesbian would go for her. Maybe Beca's just repressed or really, really straight. But she was... she was wrong. Beca clearly had the hots for that German... tall... woman.

It's always the blondes, isn't it?

Well, she knocks at the door once before opening it. "Heeeeeey, you guys oka-" She takes a step forward and into the room, biting her lower lip as her eyes ran over the figure of Beca's body. She was wearing a strapless black dress with a see through fabric and a tighter black fabric hugging her curves underneath. It was beautiful. It showed that she had quite a nice figure, which you couldn't usually see seeing as Beca preferred baggy, mostly boyish clothes.

She looked hot. Really, really hot. Chloe particularly liked the way her butt looked, and she couldn't help the way she's obviously giving her best friend a once over. She can't help it. She likes Beca. She has this huge lesbian crush on Beca she wouldn't even deny if anyone asked her.

"Wow. You look great." Beca turned around to face her, offering her a smile. "Don't you think it's a bit much?" She raised her leg to show Chloe the heels she was wearing, motioning towards the bun Emily had tied her hair in, with some of her curls falling on her shoulder and the dark make-up - she was even wearing red lipstick! Wow. Damn it. She looked so, so hot. She was really into Beca's style and her punk, tomboy-ish look but this? This looks so hot. It looks great.

"Not at all. I think you're going to scare those German jerks with how hot you look," she jokes with an easy going smile, which makes Fat Amy and Emily laugh as they emerge from Beca's closet, handing her a leather black jacket. "You can thank me and Emily for how hot she looks, Chloe," Fat Amy winked at Chloe and gave her ass a little pat before exiting the room, making the ginger blush.

Beca gave her an odd look, and Chloe just laughed nervously, grabbing the purse she knew was Beca's on the bed and then her friend's arm. "Come on then, Miss McHottie! We're going to be late, already!"

She's really trying to not think about the fact that Beca has never done this before, not even for her dates with Jessie - and she really, really hates the idea that the only reason Beca's all dressed up like this, is because of that- that- no. She refuses to believe it. Beca is not into girls.

And she's not jealous. She's not hurt, at all. If Beca was into girls, she'd be the one she'd go for, right? Not that German... well. Maybe tonight is the night she should really make her move.

* * *

Despite the knowing looks Fat Amy has been throwing her since she chose the dress rather than her go to jeans and black shirt, Beca is telling herself that the heels, the dress and the make-up are not to impress, and  _maybe_... seduce, Kommissar. Not at all. If anything - it's an  _intimidation_  technique. She's going to be taller, sexy, and look great while she tells her that she really doesn't want to do... Whatever it is that they were about to do before Fat Amy and Bumper interrupted them that night.

She's ignoring Fat Amy, and flat out blanking everyone else with all their comments about her appearance. Really - it's not that big of a deal. It's not like they haven't seen her wearing heels or a dress or make up before. She'd dress up for a lot of their performances, and sometimes when they'd go out, too, when she felt like it, so why was everyone acting like it was headline worthy?

It wasn't. And she kept cool about it on the way over to this party thing, hoping that it would be somewhere with more tables or chairs than last time because she had a feeling that she would not last all night or even a few hours in these goddamn heels.

Fat Amy was driving, which meant they got there before the other car, with the rest of the girls, seeing as Fat Amy was really a careless, rather fast driver, and when she stepped out of the car, she almost didn't want to go inside the building before her - it was one of the nightclubs that Chloe was always bugging her about going, but clubs weren't Beca's thing. Unless she was DJing, and she hasn't had a gig in a while...

She can hear Chloe clapping her hands and letting out an excited laugh. "Oh, this is going to be  _sooooooo_  great!"  _For you, maybe_. Rolling her eyes, she followed Chloe, Fat Amy, Stacie and Cynthia Rose inside the club, having to blink a couple of times for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting - it wasn't as crowded or as closed as she would imagine. The building looked like some sort of old warehouse, and that allowed a lot of space between the floor and the ceiling. There were tables scattered across a very spacious room - a stage with a microphone and a few instruments, what looked like to be a shift-made dance floor with a few people dancing on it, and two bars across the room; both facing each other.

The first thing Beca notices is the emergency exits and the bathrooms; the next thing she notices, is the the gorgeous six foot tall blonde making her way over.

Her hair was down, like last time, her lips were red, like last time, but this time she was wearing a mesh knit jumper and skinny tight jeans. She was glad for that, because the leather pants were... Well, too much. Beca felt her eyes going down the woman's body before she could stop herself, and when she got to Kommissar's face again, she was already standing in front of her, with the most amused of smiles on her lips. It takes all of Beca's strength not to jump her right there and bite that smile off her gorgeous, inviting red lips... God! What is up with her and her dirty thoughts around this woman?! It's not normal. She's not even this... Inappropriate around Jesse. She's  _never_ been this... Inappropriate around Jesse, now that she comes to think of it...

" _Tiny maus_ ," Kommissar purred, forcing Beca out of her thoughts as she took a step closer; Beca took a step back, bumping into what she assumed was Fat Amy, who made a noise and moved out of the way. Kommissar seemed amused by this, and reached to brush her thumb against Beca's chin. "I was afraid you wouldn't come. This night wouldn't have been half as... Entertaining without you  _tiny children_ , here," she looked at the other Bellas, grinning like the tigress she was.

Chloe was the first one to react, stepping forward in front of Beca, almost as if to protect her from Kommissar; they're chest to chest and Chloe is looking up at her with a ferocity that... Chloe has _never_  looked  _this_ angry. " _We're not children_ , and this time, we're going to kick your ass." Kommissar laughs, and she's soon joined by her even taller, but equally as gorgeous side-kick. She's not sure what his name is. Pieter? Something like that. "I think you would need stairs, to climb on, so that you could  _try_ to kick our asses."

This time, Beca is the one who has to grab hold of Chloe's arms and drag her away, leaving an amused Pieter and Kommissar behind - that is, half way. Beca is whispering calming words in Chloe's ear as they make their way towards the bar to wait for their friends and to get some jiggle juice in Chloe's bloodstream so she can calm down, when she feels a hand on her arm.

She doesn't need to turn around to know who it is. "Go ahead. I'll join you in a bit." Chloe opens her mouth to protest, but Fat Amy gives Beca this look before taking Chloe by her hand. "Come on, Chlo, let's go hit on that cute bartender."

Beca smiles at her friends, shaking her head before she turns around to face the Amazon Goddess that's been haunting her ever since they met. "I wasn't finished with you." And that was it; that was all she said before she leaned down and pressed her lips to Beca's. It wasn't the hesitant, timid sort of kiss someone would expect...

No, it was  _hungry_ , demanding, passionate. One could even say dominating? It felt as if Kommissar was marking her territory, and there's a part of her that really wants to fight that, because she'll be damned if she lets anyone mark her like she's an object or a tree to be peed on but... A part of her really, really likes that, and before she can help herself she's kissing her back, parting her lips and allowing Kommissar's hungry tongue inside her mouth. She's not sure how it happens, but before long she has her fingers twisted within those gorgeous, silken strands of golden hair and they're kissing like nobody's watching.

Which Beca is fully aware isn't the case - she's sure that the others are watching. Open-mouthed, too. She's still dating Jesse, after all. And up until now she's sure that everyone believed her to be  _straight_...

She pulls away when she feels like she can't breathe any more, taking a minute to catch her breath, her eyes still closed. Kommissar doesn't lose time, though, and soon Beca's moaning softly, breathlessly, into her ear, as she feels the blonde's delicious lips on her neck, her tongue sending electrifying shivers down Beca's spine, causing her hips to buck and press against her... It's only when opens her eyes and find people staring at them that she steps out of this... Spell Kommissar has her on, muttering something about privacy under her breath as she manages to pull the German away from her enough so that she can grab her by the hand and drag her somewhere darker.

The only place she could find was the bathroom. It's only when she's stopped and saw the door is locked that she realizes how bad it all looks, and how everyone out there is thinking how she's... A cheater, a liar... A bad, horrible person but...

Again, she's interrupted by hungry lips. And she can't help but fall into them, kissing Kommissar like her lips are oxygen and this time she  _wants_ to be as hungry as she feels. Her hands travel down Kommissar's body, and she takes what she wants, what she can. She gropes and squeezes her firm ass, moves her fingers up her shirt, feeling the silky, smooth skin of her belly until she's massaging her breasts through her bra, and the second she hears Kommissar moaning she's gone.  _Truly_ gone.

Finding strength somewhere inside her she turns them around so that she's pinning the blonde against the wall, drinking in the sight of Kommissar's breathless, lipstick smudged state. "You look... What is the word... Hmm...  _Ravishing_ , in that dress." Beca laughs as she feels her cheeks blushing, and she's so intoxicated by Kommissar she forgets about everything else. She forgets about her boyfriend. About her friends. About the riff off, though she's starting to believe there wasn't one to begin with.

Is she really about to have sex with a stranger in the bathroom? A stranger she's in love... Or in lust, with, yes, but a stranger, nonetheless. And this is still, a freaking bathroom!

"I... I don't know what you  _want_  from me, but I can't keep doing this, I'm-" She gulps down her words as she feels Kommissar's finger against her kiss-swollen lips. "Don't speak. Words will ruin this. Tell me, tiny maus- do you  _not_  want me?" Beca's caught speechless right now and she's sure that the logical, right thing to do here would be to lie. To lie and get out while she can and never look back.

But she can't lie to this woman, for some reason. She can't lie because Kommissar's poisoned her with her lips. "Yes. I... I  _do_  want you..." She admits, breathlessly, and as Kommissar grins, she moves her finger into Beca's mouth... Which she... Would have find odd and disgusting were it anyone else, but this is Kommissar, this woman is Aphrodite personified and everything she's ever dreamed that she wanted, everything she  _never_ knew she  _needed_ , and so she sucks her finger. She feels so... Out of herself, like this is some sort of out of body experience and she's watching some stranger wearing her skin sucking on to a gorgeous blonde's finger but the look in Kommissar's face, the way her eyes darken...

She gets into it, and when Kommissar pulls her finger out of her mouth with a dirty pop, she knows there is really,  _really_ ,  **no going back**. She's slammed against the opposing wall and a gasp leaves her when her legs are pulled apart. "Are you wearing expensive lingerie?" Beca can only nod, completely hypnotized by this woman.  _Gone_. There's no hope of her ever finding reason again.

"That's a shame..." Her dress is hitched up to her thighs and... She gasps once again, looking down at Kommissar's hand and what used to be her best lacy pair of panties. They're now... Well... They're ripped. How did she do that?! Beca's torn between bewilderment, anger and... Being even more turned on. "You owe me 40 bucks." Kommissar chuckles, sucking two of her fingers; so slowly and sensually Beca was sure she would have had an erection did she have a dick...

"I will give you your money's worth, tiny maus." Her right hand grabbed hold of Beca's hair, ruining what Fat Amy had so skilfully done with her hair, tightly and forcefully pulling her head back, and her fingers... Oh, sweet God, her fingers were brushing up against her clit, her wet, skilled fingers that made her knees tremble and her hips buck. " _FUCK_!" Her loud moan was silenced by hungry teeth on her bottom lip, hungry enough that she felt blood in her mouth, her breath hitching in her throat. "Sssh, quiet, little mouse. Quiet. We don't want to be interrupted... And we do not have time to waste..."

Beca was so wet, already. She was so ready. And Kommissar was only testing the waters, when she found Beca's entrance, she shoved both of her fingers inside of her with no warning. It was delicious to watch the way that Beca's body responded to her fingers; the way her hips bucked, her back arched off the wall, her eyes closed and her mouth formed a silent  _oh_  shape. They were both breathing heavily, both too far gone into their own perfect cloud of desire and need to know that this wasn't the perfect and most romantic location to have one's first time - but that didn't exactly matter, did it? Kommissar believed firmly that life was too short for rules, for restrictions; but of course, that only applied to love, having fun. She is after all, the leader of a very successful group... And  _German_.

And Beca; well, Beca has never done anything like this, and right now she is truly incapable of coherent thought. Kommissar's fingers have taken her to a whole new world. A place she never even knew existed.

She moves into her fingers, wanting, needing more, and hearing a breathless chuckle against her ear, Kommissar began moving her fingers; thrusting in, and out. In. And. Out. She cursed and moaned with each movement, moving her hips each time Kommissar moved deeper. She began slow, careful, almost as if she was allowing Beca's walls to adjust... And then she... Beca threw her head back and all but howled Kommissar's title, moving so that her legs were firmly wrapped around the German's hips, and she groaned when she felt Kommissar's hand on her butt, holding her firmly and tightly pressed against her.

The wild part of her cannot deny that this is the wildest and hottest thing she has ever done. It will definitely be a story to tell her friends, how she was fucked like a  _cheap whore_  against the wall of a bathroom of some club.

The voice of reason that's been screaming at her to run ever since she first saw Kommissar is being strangled by her need for this woman, and she completely loses track of time. Of everything. To her it feels like they've been kissing, biting, sucking, licking each other's lips and skin, tugging at each other's hair, feeling each other's skin and breasts, bodies moving and grinding into one another forever... She feels like they've only been at it for a few minutes... All at once. There's so many sensations, so many emotions going on that she feels like her sensory and her mind are both going to explode - simultaneously.

As she feels droplets of sweat starting to run down her forehead, she digs her nails into Kommissar's shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around them as she opens her eyes to find those intense, hungry eyes staring into her own. "You are close, aren't you, tiny maus?" Beca moaned at how throaty and hoarse Kommissar's voice sounded, and all she could do was nod, whimpering as she felt Kommissar's thumb moving over her swollen clit, biting back her lip, making it bleed even more, as she held a scream once she felt her add another finger, moving her them in and out so fast Beca could barely catch up.

"P-please... I'm... I'm so..." She was forced against the wall, Kommissar's hand slapping her butt-cheek so hard she was sure her hand print would be there for a week. "Say it. Say what you want." Right now, Kommissar could order her to do anything - and Beca would do it. She whimpered, no, mewled: "I want you to make me cum, you fucking Goddess!" All she heard was a chuckle, and she didn't want to open her eyes and cum at the sight of the grin Kommissar probably had right now, so she kept them close...

And well, it didn't take her long. In fact, one slow stroke of Kommissar's fingers inside of her, accompanied by the movement of her thumb and...

She fell all the tension in her body leaving, her nails and hands relaxing, as well as her feet, as she felt her orgasm hit her like a wave that took her breath away. And any resistance that she might have had.

Dizzy and completely breathless, all she heard was Kommissar chuckling before she heard the sound of her sucking on to something. Beca opened her eyes, groaning at the sight of Kommissar licking her cum off her fingers, looking like she was licking chocolate off her fingers. "You are... Hmm, what do you Americans say?" Beca can't fight it any more. She smiles, moving a hand to wipe sweat off her forehead.

" _Yummy._ "


	5. Chapter 5

The night air feels freezing cold as it hits her flushed flesh... she shivers, and she can almost feel the hairs in her limbs stand up; her body reacts to the temperature but her mind doesn't register it, just yet. She's being dragged on by euphoria... perhaps something else, too; something she's not yet willing to even consider. It was entirely possible for it to happen, of course it was - people fall in love all the time, at different paces... in the weirdest of places and much, much more fucked up situations, too. But she's not bothered about that, right now, because her arms are wrapped tight around Her waist, and the cinnamon, chocolate-y scent of her hair is intoxicating her senses and drugging her brain.

She hears the night pass them by as Kommissar drives them out of the city. Where is she taking her? Somewhere far away... somewhere she shouldn't be, surely. But Beca is not bothered about that, right now. She doesn't seem to be bothered about anything, right now. She barely even remembers how she ended up here, on Kommissar's bike, in the first place.

Everything is kind of a blur, but all she knows is that the streets all full of colours and the blurs are prettier than every rainbow she's ever seen... the sound of the engine is the only reminder she has that this is real and it's happening to her. She isn't dreaming; but she feels like she is. Everything about this moment feels surreal. The very air seems to have that dream-like quality to it... but most of all, she cannot believe that being this close to someone could feel so good. That having her legs and her body pressed around Kommissar, that touching her stomach and feeling her warmth... Burying her nose in her hair and breathing her in and hearing her laugh against the sound of the wind around them when Beca "accidentally" kissed her neck or her shoulders.

There is no denying that she's in love.

That, of course, will not stop her from doing, so. She is who she is, and she runs from these types of things - she can't change from water to wine overnight. Mind, this is the first time something like this happens to her... she's not exactly an adventurous person, and she's not so eager to let people in, this easily. Tonight she's broken all of her rules, all at once... and she finds it that she doesn't really... care. Not enough to want to change any of it, anyhow.

"Are you okay, tiny maus?" Kommissar shouts over her shoulder and Beca leans forward to kiss her jaw as a response, which elicits another laugh from the blonde woman; Beca can feel her ribs vibrating. To prove to her driver that she was, in fact, okay, she pulled away from her and stood up, her feet almost slipping in the feet-support but she manage to do it enough to raise both of her arms above her head and scream at the top of her lungs. It caused such a rush - she could feel her heart beating faster, her blood bumping, and when she sat back down, holding on to Kommissar as if on to dear life... she knew that she had made the right choice when she let the German whisk her away.

* * *

 

_**Three hours ago...** _

Her eyes were focused on the way Kommissar licked the residues of her orgasm on her skilled fingers, the way her pink tongue swirled around the pale flesh ever so slowly, teasing Beca of what they could do to other parts of her anatomy... she found herself wanting more... and sex, well, she's never found herself wanting more. Not so suddenly.

Once Kommissar seemed to feel satisfied that her fingers were clean enough, she bent down to capture the Bella's open mouth in a slow, tender kiss, that was such a different tempo from the fervent, passionate exchange of saliva they had participated in just a few minutes ago... It was a nice change; gave Beca sometime to try and regain some sort of focus. But her legs still felt like jelly, and her lungs were still burning, screaming at her.

Against her better judgment, she wrapped her arms around the taller woman's body and pressed flush against her own, needing her warmth and her proximity more than she was truly willing to admit. The kiss lasted for what felt like forever yet nowhere near enough, before both pulled back, flushed, breathless and yet not satisfied. Beca's eyes remained closed as she felt Kommissar's fingers traveling up her sides, her tongue moistening her lips... which tasted only of Kommissar. She's not sure what she's doing - she doesn't know what this is. But she knows that she can't fight it, doesn't want to, and the longer she spends in Kommissar's arms, the more she seems to want to be with her, close to her...

She felt Kommissar's fingers traveling down to her thighs but this time she grabbed both of her hands, meeting those mesmerizing blue eyes. "No, not here. I want..." She gulped down the knot in her throat, the fear, brushing her fingertips against Kommissar's knuckles. "Let's go somewhere where I don't have to worry about germs all the time..." The blonde chuckled over her. "Very well. My hotel room has a large double bed I would like you to make friends with..." Something about the way she said it, something in her smile... it just made Beca shiver with anticipation.

They sneak out of the bathroom holding hands, well... Beca, sneaks out, of the bathroom; Kommissar strides out of it like she's just won herself a fine prize, and Beca ducks her head and holds her jacket over it to hide her face from prying eyes as she lets the German goddess guide her towards the exit. They stop just before they go out, Beca with one foot out the door already as Kommissar says something Beca doesn't catch due to the loud music to her Second in Command. His name was, Pieter.

The second they stepped outside she was still flushed and a bit sweaty, so she wrapped her jacket around her waist and didn't let go of Kommissar's hand until they stopped in front of a black Yamaha Road Star C. A motorbike. Of course. It went with the whole punk act. Beca couldn't deny the smirk on her lips as she let go of the blonde's hand to feel the leather seat and the handles... she's always been a fan of bikes. But the ones she liked were often too expensive... and her father refused to encourage any... Potentially lethal hobbies she might pick up along the way - riding a motorbike, apparently, was number three on that list.

"This is the 2012 model... it's beautiful. Is it yours?"

Only now once she's looked up to meet Kommissar's eyes that she noticed the blonde was looking at her with a strange twinkle in her eyes. "You... enjoy motorbikes?" Beca let out a laugh, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear; she only notices how much of a mess her hair is when she looks into the mirror of the bike.

"My uncle was a racer, and he'd take me to some of his races when my Dad dumped me over for babysitting. Then he found out about where my uncle was taking me and he stopped dropping me there... but... God, I've always loved them-" She smiles so wide and so genuinely she looks about ten years younger. Kommissar can't help but adore the way she looks right now, the way she runs her fingers through the bike like it's a precious, living thing...

"Can you ride it?"

Beca looks up at the blonde again. "Oh, me? No- no. Well. I sort of... learned... but... well, I wouldn't want to risk crashing this beauty. It must have cost a fortune-"

Kommissar shrugged her shoulder as if to say that a fortune wasn't a fortune for her - Beca's not surprised. Something about Kommissar gave off this... rich girl, vibe. "I only have one helmet," she says, handing it to Beca, but Beca refuses. "I like to feel the wind against my face..." Kommissar laughed as she climbed on top of her bike. "Like a dog."

Beca laughed as she climbed behind her, her arms wrapping around the slender waist of the blonde. "Like a dog."

They rode about half an hour before Kommissar stopped in front of a building that looked too expensive to even breathe in. Beca was hypnotized, and she noticed the door man, was, too, when Kommissar parked in front of the hotel and got off like a slender cat, taking her helmet off and tossing her long, golden hair like those slow motion really pretty actresses in romantic comedies... she was almost drooling, when the blonde caught her gawking, a grin on her lips.

Beca blushed and looked away, hopping off the bike herself - only much less gracefully and almost stumbling and falling right on her face.

They made a pathetic couple - the gracious swan and the ugly duckling...

But Kommissar bumped her nose and kissed her on the lips like she was something to be proud of. Like she wanted people to see them out together. She couldn't help but feel like... like she was the luckiest person in the world, right now. And she felt like it, as she walked past the gawking doorman with a smug look on her face.

The hotel lobby was as impressive as the outside - decorated floor to ceiling with expensive things and with those kind of chandeliers you only ever saw in mansions and movies. She feels so very out of place in a place like this... but she followed Kommissar quietly, until they were inside a lift.

"You look like a kid at a candy store," she commented, her eyes once again, fixed on Beca. Beca felt naked under her intense gaze. Exposed. "I feel like one..." She chewed on her bottom lip, tugging the skirt of her dress down. "Not wearing any underwear is extremely uncomfortable. My- my vagina is cold!" There was a ringing bell that announced they had arrived at the designated floor and the doors opened just as she was saying... my vagina is cold.

The old, nice couple just coming into the lift looked horrified, and Kommissar couldn't stop laughing, even as she dragged a blushing Beca out of the lift and towards a large door with the number 201B on it. "I... I can't believe-" Still laughing, Kommissar pushed the door open and pulled Beca inside. "Ssh, little maus. I'm sure you gave that nice couple a very lovely image..."

She didn't have time to reply before she felt lips against her own again. But this time the kiss was sweet and delicate, and she was pressed up against the wall and trapped there. Like a mouse cornered by a cat... only she didn't mind if she was eaten...

But Kommissar had other plans in mind.

She pulled away from a wanting Beca and moved to a large dressing, pulling out a few changes of clothes and a large, black bag. "Do you think these would fit you?" She threw a pair of black underwear at Beca and she walked towards the bed, holding it up against her hips. "I think so."

Kommissar was packing... not a lot. Enough for two days... a weekend...

"Are you kidnapping me?"

The blonde laughed - and Beca was slowly finding that the sound of her laughter; the genuine, warm sound, not the cold teasing sound she did back at the Car Show, was her favourite sound in the world. Nothing sounded quite as beautiful, and nothing made her so proud. The fact that she could make this woman laugh...

"I don't see you struggling. Or screaming. I would say that you... came willingly. Literally."

It was her turn to laugh now, as she kicked off her heels and sat down on Kommissar's large, comfortable king sized bed. The room was as luxurious as the rest of the hotel, and Beca felt so small and so simple in it, but she didn't mind, right now. She suddenly felt exhausted. "Do you have to kidnap me? Why can't we stay here?" She said as she threw herself on the bed, letting out a moan and a pleasant sigh. "God! This is so soft. What do they stuff this mattress with? Baby swans?"

"The rest of my team stays here, in this hotel, and I don't want anyone to interrupt our weekend together... especially not your friends." Beca sat up at that, looking up at Kommissar as she stuffed some toiletries inside the black bag. "And you were planning on asking me if I wanted to come along... when?"

Kommissar stopped her movements and stared right into Beca's eyes. She looked so intense, right now. As if Beca dared question her decision... she bent down slowly, until she was inches away from the brunette's face. Beca trembled with her proximity, with the intensity and the hunger in her eyes...

"Do you want to spend the weekend with me, Rebeca Mitchell?"

* * *

 

Everything after that was a blur, and that's how she finds herself on Kommissar's bike again, as she drives them out of town.

There's so many things she doesn't know yet - how old Kommissar is, what her actual name is... what she wants, what her favourite food is, where in Germany she was born... but she figures there'll be time for that wherever they're going - it's insane that she's allowing this stranger to take her away to God knows where for a whole weekend without... any complaining. She helped Kommissar pack and they left the room without Beca ever even looking back.

Her phone was dying and she didn't even bother to check if Kommissar had packed a charger. It was all so... Crazy.

This was what this was: crazy.

She's never had something like this. A crazy adventure a teenager would live and have some great story to tell their grandchildren around a fire someday. She knew, as she held on to Kommissar, that this was it. This was her great story. She knew that when she was old and grey and dying, that she would look back to her young days and this is what she would remember the most - she knew that she would remember the smell of Kommissar's hair, the texture of her skin, the taste of her lips... The sound of her laughter... until she was dying. Probably, she would be the last thing she'd think about right before she took her last breath.

This is it. She knows it. The one great love that some lucky people experience. She'll be talking about Kommissar in twenty years as the One Who Got Away, because she could never keep someone like this forever - but she's willing to go wherever she goes, to do what she wants, because she knows she'll remember this forever.

In this moment, she feels infinite.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m being very nice, right now, and making these chapters as sweet as they can be... but I feel the need to warn you, my friends, that this little bubble they’re in is gonna burst real soon. So you buckle up and prepare yourselves for that! Also ---- I googled as much as I could about Georgia and places outside Atlanta and stuff but my knowledge of stuff in the U.S is very limited so please feel free to correct me if I get anything wrong or whatever. Hope you guys enjoy this one!

When they finally stopped, her legs and her ass was cramping but she didn't complain once. Kommissar stopped twice, insisting Beca got up and stretched her legs, but the tiny brunette refused, insisting she could ride for hours before having the need to get off - but she was also a  _terrible_  liar. When she finally got off the bike, she let out a muffled sound of relief and stretched her limbs as best as she could, hoping her companion wouldn't notice... but a part of her was sure that there was very little Kommissar would ever miss. She was one of those quick witted types. "You should have stretched," she said as she rubbed knots on Beca's shoulders. "Mein Gott! You are arms are freezing, little maus!" Her hands started rubbing the smaller woman's arms and shoulder in an attempt to create friction and warm her up.

But Beca was a little too excited to be bothered about her temperature, right now. She turned around, her hair all wild and more tired than she'd let on, to face the little bed and breakfast by the freeway just outside of Madison, Georgia. This, was more her area. It was anything fancy - in fact, it was as simple and modest as bed and breakfasts could be. Although... it had this cozy, romantic air to it that made Beca feel as if she was in a committed relationship.

In fact, she doubted they even got same-sex couples in this part a lot... which made her slightly nervous, but Kommissar wasn't. She'd be very surprised if she'd ever see the German woman fazed about anything. She seemed to be so relaxed, and almost... robotic when it came to reactions to things.

Which was good - she was far too awkward herself... and well, that's always been somewhat of an issue in her relationship with Jesse... ( and her mind does a complete U-turn when she thinks about him because that is the LAST thing she wants right now. ) When she turns around to the bike, now parked close to the bushes in the small parking lot in front of the bed and breakfast, Kommissar already had the helmet in one hand and the black bag over her shoulder. She looked every bit like Princess Charming and Beca couldn't shake off the feeling she was about to walk into a fairy tale.

"Have you been here before?" Kommissar stopped besides her to take in the place before them, shaking her head. "I have never been to this place of the United States before. I looked at the map this morning when discussing our tour with Pieter... Googled a few places..." She shrugged, and Beca nodded. "It seems nice." Kommissar smiled, looking down at her. "Shall we go in or do you plan on sleeping out here?"

She rolled her eyes, fighting Kommissar for the black bag - which she regretted because it was kind of heavy and it kept brushing against her tight as she walked; but she was far too stubborn and proud to complain, and she carried it all the way over to the reception of the bed & breakfast.

She, of course, let Kommissar handle all of it, whilst she kept looking around the place like a child. She smiled at the friendly old woman behind the counter every time she looked at her, though - the inside was just as friendly and romantic as the outside. With a little reception-y area and a few sofas and chairs spread about, with a TV on the wall and a few plants here and there. She could see a vending machine, and a hall nearby that she assumed would lead to bedrooms.

The old woman was very friendly, but Beca had the feeling that she was curious about two young girls booking a double bedroom for two nights. When she asked whose name the room would be in, Kommissar looked at Beca, then gave a little smile that was somewhere between amused and a bit timid...

"Hilda." Beca bit back any sort of comment or reaction, as Kommissar pulled out a German passport as I.D. She tried to catch a glimpse at her surname, her date of birth, or even the no doubt embarrassing passport photo- but all she could see was Kommissar looking gorgeous with a serious face on, nothing more.

 _Hilda_.

Said with a very strong, German accent. It was a... typical German name. But seeing as Beca went by as Beca... she could understand having an alias. Her smile widens slightly this time because she feels like she just got to know the woman beside her a little better. "That'll be it, sweetheart- come on over and I'll show you to your rooms."

Beca picked up the black bag, giving Ko- Hilda, a look, as she followed her and the old woman towards the well-lit hall she had seen previously.

They walked past the vending machine... five doors down, the second to last door, was theirs. The old woman unlocked the room and held the door open for them. Beca stepped through after Hilda stepped aside and gestured for her to go in first, offering her a sarcastic smile. "Such a gentleman," Hilda just gave her a little wink, and a pat on her ass. Beca flushed, and was glad she had her back to both her and the old woman as she placed the black bag on the double bed.

"Breakfast's at eight until ten. If you gals are looking for something to do, there's a festival going on in town this weekend... and a lake about half an hour hike from here in the woods- if you need anything, me and my husband live upstairs on room 2B."

"We'll remember that. Thank you," Hilda showed the woman out before shutting the door behind her, and when she turned around, Beca was on the bed, sans her shoes. "What," she looked up with those adorable eyes of hers, nibbling on a cookie she stole from inside a cupboard in the room. "Hungry?" Beca nodded, wanting nothing but to get rid of the make up and the dress. "I can order something to eat-"

Beca got up, and without her high heeled shoes on, she looked even tinier than she did with them on, and walked towards Hilda. The blonde woman stopped talking as she looked down at her brunette companion, and they stayed that way for a while- simply looking into each other's eyes. Beca was the first to move. She tilted her head to the side and reached a hand to brush a strand of hair behind Hilda's ear. She looked so different with her hair down and all wild and mussed like it was right now. It was... it was endearing. So very different from the uptight, intimidating way she had been when they met.

"What are we doing?" The brunette American whispered, as Hilda moved one of her hands to brush her fingertips along the brunette's left arm, moving up and down... sending shivers down her spine, eliciting soft sighs from Beca's parted lips. "Getting to know each other." Beca bit her lower lip, and Hilda watched, jealous because she wanted to be the one doing that. "Aren't we... I mean, we should be mortal enemies or something like that..."

That, caused Hilda to laugh, her free hand settling on Beca's hip, pulling her closer. When she was satisfied with their proximity, she guides her hand to cup the brunette's cheek. "Professionally, that will not change. You are children playing a grown up's game." At this, Beca scoffed and rolled her eyes; like a stubborn child, she pouted and looked away from the intimidating woman touching her... Making her feel all... well, making her feel things! Very, very, good things!

"It's Acapella! Stupid acapella sung by a bunch of nerds! Your group may be all... sexy and great and professional, but it doesn't change that it's-"

An effective way of getting someone to stop talking is to kiss them. And well, Hilda succeeded at that. The second her lips touched Beca's, the brunette parted her lips and welcomed the blonde's hungry tongue into her mouth, and before she knew it, she was feeling the edge of the bed against the back of her knee, and she found herself laid down on the bed on her back, with a gorgeous blonde hovering over her.

Hilda was a very good kisser, and that made even thinking about breaking the kiss a very hard task. Then her hands started to hitch up the skirt of Beca's dress and Beca's hands were on her ass, squeezing her cheeks and forcing the blonde against her. Their hips and bodies grinding on each other, the kiss becoming hungry and desperate as Beca managed to open Hilda's jeans and shove a hand inside her underwear.

She had to act quick, because she had the feeling Hilda was the dominating type. And so she did; she pressed two fingers against her and started rubbing.

Beca never had sex with a girl before. But she had... touched herself before, even watched lesbian porn and yes, read the occasional erotica, so she had an idea of what to do. She knew what she liked, so she let that, and the sounds of Hilda's breathy moans on top of her guide her.

It was... it was empowering, when she opened her eyes and found Hilda with her eyes closed and her mouth opened in a silent oh as Beca's fingers rubbed and teased her until she could feel the blonde was wet enough for her to take this further.

Using her legs, she turned them around, positioning herself between Hilda's legs as she tugged her jeans down with her free hand and continued to tease her cunt with her two fingers, rubbing and circling her thumb over her clit in motions that got the blonde moaning and arching her hips off the bed, all but begging for more. And Beca was eager to give ti to her. She drank in the sight of Hilda on the bed, biting her full lip, moving her hips and her breath increasing as Beca's movements became more demanding; demanding more moans, more sounds, more want. She wanted to see Hilda dismantled, wanted to dig deep inside of her until she saw her at her core, raw and naked and exposed and...  _hers_.

"Does that... feel good?" Hilda opened her eyes, lust having darkened her pupils, she looked like a hungry tiger, right now. She nodded, humming her reply. Beca grinned, as she hovered over the blonde woman, leaning forward as a hand supported the weight of her body, pressing it besides Hilda's head. "What... what do you want me to do?"

Now, there was a look in Hilda's eyes that made Beca feel like she was truly going to pay for this. And Beca was eager for that moment. But she was enjoying this moment. Having the reigns in her hands.

If the little maus wanted to play at being a cat, Hilda wasn't going to deny her. She smirked, licking her full lips slowly, teasingly so, as she leaned forward, just close enough so that Beca could feel her hot breath caressing her skin.

"I want you..." She began, in her heavy, thick, German accent, her already naturally deep voice raspy and hoarse with want. "I want you to fuck me like you'd fuck yourself thinking about me, little maus. Make me... make me scream your name."

Beca felt herself reacting to those words, wetness pooling in her nether regions, but she didn't... she didn't let her distract her from the task at hand.

Sinking her teeth down on that deliciously plumb lower lip of Hilda's, she thrust her two fingers inside of her wet, hot core and gasped at the sound Hilda made. Her eyes were wide open and focused on the way the blonde threw her head back and moaned, her eyes closed, her hips reacting to Beca's every movement; she soon began thrusting her fingers in and out, in and out, until she picked up a nice rhythm.

Beca had very nimble, skilled fingers. She was a DJ, after all... and Hilda... Hilda... she was going to be the finest track Beca would mix. There was a need to prove herself, but most of all, to give Hilda the best night of her life.

* * *

 

The little maus knew more than Hilda thought she did. Her fingers were very skilled, as if she had done this a thousand times before, yet how eager she was for Hilda's reactions told her that she hadn't done this before. At least, not to another woman, and the realization that she was the first woman to lay with the Bella was... well, it made her proud, and it made her grin, and that made Beca fuck her harder, faster, deeper.

Hilda's moans and curses varied between German and English, but by the time she found herself shirtless and braless all she could do was curse in German and moan  _Rebeca_  like a prayer.

She wasn't used to this. Being the one to receive pleasure rather than to take it - and it was somewhat frightening, how willing she was, in terms of giving Beca the power to do that to her. To fuck her.

In the end, she's just as frightened about this as Beca is.

None of it makes sense. She meets a girl she's supposed to hate. Yet she cannot get her off her mind. And she cannot stop thinking about how much she wants to beat this girl... and kiss her... and then she does, and, well, here they are. Pieter warned her to be careful. But Hilda was never careful when it came to love. Mind, she rarely fell in love. Actually... had she ever, truly, been in love? The girls, and boys, she had dated were all meaningless relationships; she's always wanted something out of people. Money. Connections. Promotion. Power.

Things other than love, affection and just the raw desire to be with them...

Sex, love, relationships... all of it always meant only one thing for her: manipulation. But Rebeca Mitchell came in like a wrecking ball and wrecked all her beliefs and her rules. She offered to take her to her hotel with every intention of fucking the girl's brain out on her hotel bed and sending her away to be beaten at the Worlds and move on with her life - but then, the second she had seen the way Beca looked under the chandelier of her hotel, the way she blushed and laughed...

She didn't want to share Beca with anyone else. She wanted to be with her for a whole weekend with the knowledge that she wasn't going to be, anyone else's. That it was just them.

"Cum for me, Hilda," she heard the brunette whisper as she suckled on Hilda's left nipple, adding a third finger inside her as her thumb circled Hilda's clit. She swore and arched her hips into Beca's touch, feeling her walls tighten, her toes curling into the bed as every muscle in her body tensed and beads of sweat ran down her skin. "Cum for me!" Beca demanded, her lips going down, down... It was when she felt Beca sucking on her clit that she finally did, cum.

Hilda threw her head back, arching her torso off the mattress and screaming Beca's name as she felt all her walls crashing down around the Bella's fingers and into her mouth.

As she laid down, breathless, seeing stars behind her eyelids and feeling lighter than she has in years, Beca licking her clean and making her chuckle breathlessly, she was sure that she'd never find anyone who could make her feel this way... all of these things all at once. She knew this one was special. She had been a non-believer, skeptical in her ways of believing that you could ever find someone just for you. Only one person in the world out there to make you feel this way.

Beca climbed on top of her again and kissed her neck, paying homage to her breasts and then her mouth. Hilda kissed her back and moved her arms, which felt weak, to wrap around the brunette's, running her fingers through her wild brown hair, tugging as their tongues danced a slow, lazy tango.

" _You're impossible_ ," she breathed into the kiss, in a breathless German. Beca replied, with an adorable accent, just before biting Hilda's lip: " _So are you_."

* * *

Little stray rays of sunshine slid through the curtain and tickled her face, until she woke up. She didn't want to wake up. Last night she had a beautiful, wonderful dream, and she feared that waking up would mean that the dream never happened, that none of the wonderful things she had felt, and still felt somewhere inside of her, were not real.

But she smells cinnamon and coffee, which tells her that at least a part of the dream was real.

Beca sits up, her hair covering her breasts, but as she opens her eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them, she's met by the most beautiful sight she's ever seen.

Hilda has a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. She's naked, her hair a complete mess, and she's watching something out the window, occasionally sipping the coffee mug, but mostly, just... standing there, watching.

"Good morning."

Beca smiles, tempted to take a picture of this moment or at least... draw it, or something. Hilda had marks along her and her arms, the perfect imprint of Beca's palm on her butt cheek as well as teeth mark on her thighs. She looked like the most exquisite, beautiful work of art, and Beca could write poems about how beautiful she looked right now, with the sun shining on her face, making her golden hair look like pure gold. She's almost afraid to speak, as if speaking would ruin this beautiful moment.

But occasionally, she can't help a yawn. "M-morning..." Her voice feels strange, and snippets of last night's screaming come to mind. What must that old lady be thinking right now...

"What time is it?" She remembers being reminded that breakfast was from eight to ten, and that encourages her to roll off the bed. She's also naked, and just as badly covered in bruises as Hilda is. But she makes her journey over to the black bag with Hilda's clothes, and she grabs a black shirt that isn't meshed or cropped and works as somewhat of a short dress for her. She puts on a pair of black panties, as well. "Nine. I made you coffee, but I did not want to wake you... you look like... a tiny squirrel when you're sleeping."

Beca smiles, running a hand through her nest of a hair. "Wow, so I've evolved overnight. From mouse to squirrel. I can live with that."

Hilda chuckled, and Beca smiled. "I'm going to freshen up... do you want to go have breakfast?"

"Hmm. Whenever you're ready."

When she came back into the room, Hilda was dressed and sat on the bed; she had braided her hair and dressed herself in a pair of jeans and a white blouse in the spam of five or ten minutes. That was what she'd call efficiency.

"Ready?" Beca nodded, tying her hair back in a messy bun with a pen she found in a drawer. Just before they were about to leave the room, though, she ran back to grab her phone, which was, funny enough, charged. "Err, Hilda, did you-"

"I charged your phone after you fell asleep. I thought you would want to call someone."

Of course she'd know that, and of course she'd be two steps ahead of Beca. If Jesse had done something like that their first night together, Beca would have screamed at him and stormed out.

She smiles and thanks Hilda, following her out of the room and towards the smell of food... there was another corridor, leading to a small restaurant-sized room with a serving table with lots of different kinds of breakfast food. There was a small window on the nearby wall that she could see lead to the kitchen and people could order different things they'd like, for a different price. The room was somewhat full, but Hilda picked a table close to the window, which had a nice view of the woods. She just noticed that the bed & breakfast had a pool at the back, and the water looked like it was hot.

Beca followed Hilda to the table after they both filled plates with assorted items - but both, very, very different.

Hilda's plate was filled with healthy stuff. Fruits and the like. Beca's had waffles and bacon and all kinds of things a twelve year old would go for. She feels embarrassed, as they sit down, in silence, facing each other, but she's quick to fill her mouth with junk food so she doesn't have an excuse to talk, her phone on the table besides her as she goes through her messages from last night. Most of them are from Chloe, two from Fat Amy. There's a voicemail from Jesse that she just flatout ignores.

"How is the food?" She looks up from her phone to find Hilda staring at her, sipping what looked like orange juice. Beca smiled, albeit timidly, and brushed a strand of hair that fell from her bun behind her ear. "Good enough. How's all that grass and fruits working out for ya?"

There was a chuckle, and an eyebrow was raised. "Have you let your friends know you are all right?" Beca nodded, and before she could say or do anything else, a slender, pale hand reached for her phone and pulled it away from her; she watched the phone disappear inside Hilda's bra. She was left... open-mouthed, and she wasn't going to lie... a little turned on.

She came seven times last night. Of course she's still a little horny, and she'd go down on Hilda right underneath this time if she wasn't starving, but also mad at her for taking her phone.

"Excuse me, I did not give you permission to do that!"

She was met with a dark chuckle that sent shivers down her spine. A soft gasp escaped her lips when she felt a foot going up and down her leg. "I promise you, tiny maus, I am far more interesting than whatever you have in that phone."

There's no arguing with that.

After that, breakfast goes somewhat smoothly... after a few minutes of silent sulking, Beca decided to start bombarding Hilda with questions. Normally, Hilda would brush them off, but the Bella had made her cum six or five times the night prior, and she felt like she owed her a little more than what she was giving. So she answered her questions, as honestly as she could, albeit she never gave her a lot of details.

Her surname was something Beca struggled to pronounce, she was twenty-six going on to twenty-seven years old, her star sign was Leo, she liked German sausages and her favourite colour was blood red. She was born and raised in Berlin, and all her wealth came from her parents. Her father was a well-renowned plastic surgeon in Germany and her mother was the heiress of a fortune left by a guy who owed a bunch of mines during WWII.

In little over half an hour, Beca felt like she knew Hilda better than most people. "Your middle name is Elizabeth?" She was laughing over that, their feet interlocked, her fingers brushing along Hilda's arm and Hilda's hand playing with her shirt.

"It was my grandmother's name," the blonde went on to explain with a smile on her lips - and it was true that even her voice seemed softer. Her body language had softened and everything about her seemed... nicer, less... robotic. More human.

They spent an hour talking, wrapped up in this little romantic bubble. It wasn't until one of the waiters came up to their table and told them that it was already half past eleven that they realized how long they had spent there, truly like a love sick, newly married couple. They left the restaurant holding hands and giggling like teenagers. "I think the waiter looked really pissed," Beca whispered as she glanced over her shoulder, and Hilda made a point out of grabbing her butt and making the brunette laugh as they walked back towards their room.

Once inside, they opened a bottle of wine they found inside the mini fridge in the room and spent the whole afternoon drinking and talking and laughing. Neither of them even got out to eat.

They only stopped when Hilda accused Beca of smelling like sex and wine, which got Beca very offended, and there was a pillow fight... well, Beca hit Hilda with a pillow countless times and Hilda grabbed her by her hand and threw her on the bed - and before she knew it, they were fucking against, this time, though, Hilda held her down and fucked her with her tongue until Beca screamed hallelujah and ripped the sheets.

By evening, they opened another bottle of wine and ordered a pizza - there was some scented candles in the small bathroom, and they barely fit inside the bath rub, but Beca put on some of her mixes on her phone and laid down against Hilda, in between her legs, with a dozen scented candles surrounding them.

Hilda's fingers were washing Beca's hair and Beca's hands were brushing a sponge along the length of Hilda's thigh... or was it her own? She could barely tell the difference; they were lost in a mess of limbs and kisses and moans. Teasing each other and laughing and singing along to the songs that came on her play list.

But as the water grew cold, Hilda was now the one between her legs, but she was facing Beca, as the smaller girl had her head resting against a pillow they had positioned for comfort, her eyes closed as she listened to her mash up of Titanium and Chandelier as Hilda showered her neck and collarbone with kisses.

"You are very talented..." She whispered, when the candles were starting to burn out.

Beca opened her eyes, looking down at the blonde woman with a grin on her lips. "Is that so? Are you recognizing my superiority?"

"I would not go so far..." Beca laughed, and the sound of her laughter seemed to echo in the room. The fact that Hilda was recognizing her talent and actually complimenting her meant a lot, and they spent a few minutes talking about music and what Beca wanted to do once she graduated. She even mentioned the fact that the Bellas weren't her first focus right now, that she really wanted to get things going wit her internship. And oh God, she was talking about her internship! As in, actually discussing it and how crazy and fast things were but how she actually liked it despite how little she got to do.

And Hilda listened to her, hanging on to every word and giving her so much attention that Beca didn't know whether to stop talking or just to continue rambling.

By the time they got out of the bath, the water was cold and their skins were pruned. But neither of them seemed to be very bothered about that. Moving the remaining candles to the bedroom, they put on shirts, not bothering with underwear, taking turns brushing each other's hairs before they laid in bed with some silly romantic movie in the small TV as they made out in bed.

Of course, the night ended with them having sex.

Expect... it wasn't... sex, sex, like before.

Beca could tell the difference. They were fucking. Hungry and desperate to taste all of each other like they had been the night before. They were slow. Tender. Passionate but delicate. They made love. Sweet, tender love. With ushered words and delicate touches, no screaming, no cursing. It was the most intimate moment Beca ever shared with another person, and when they were both too exhausted to continue, they fell asleep in each other's arms, legs entwined.

* * *

If anyone told her that she'd be here, right now, with Hilda, that they'd have spent such an amazing day together, she wouldn't have believed. She'd have laughed at them. Just two days ago she didn't even know her name and kept referring to her as her title. Hilda hadn't explained what the deal with that was, but Beca was going to ask some point, later. When she woke up the next day, Hilda was still sleeping, one of her arms wrapped around Beca's waist as she snored softly in her ear. The brunette was afraid to move in case she woke the older blonde up, but she was soft and delicate as she moved Hilda's arm away from her and slid out of the bed, thankfully, without waking her companion.

She stretched, and moved to wash her face and brush her teeth, and that was when she saw her phone, still on top of the toilet, buzzing. When she read the name on the screen, her heart froze.

Picking up her phone, she ignored the call and saw there were... a lot of texts from Jesse. And at least five missed calls.

She put on her high heeled shoes, since those were the only pair she had, a pair of jeans that was baggy on hers, and a shirt, tying her hair back as she left the room, walking towards the restaurant where she grabbed a cup of coffee, sat by the window with her knees hugged to her chest and watched to birds pecking each other's feather on their nest on a tree branch near the pool.

She sat there a few minutes, before she finally had the courage to dial Jesse's number.

As the phone rang, she took a deep breath and decided that it was better to pull the bandage off all at once, without any further damage. That way, things would be easier - both for her, and for Jesse. Maybe she had gotten lazy and comfortable. Needy of someone's companion; because that was what Jesse had become. Friendly company. They hadn't been lovers for a while... he had just been her best male friend, and she hadn't realized she had fallen out of love with him for a while now.

She questions if she had ever loved him at all.

"Beca."


	7. Chapter 7

Hearing his voice feels like someone reached inside her ribcage and tried to pull out her heart with icy, prickly hands. 

She had been too wrapped up in Hilda to think about how this would affect Jesse. At this point, someone would have told him what happened back at that party. The kiss. Someone must have seen her sneaking away with Hilda. She knew, that he knew. She could tell by his voice alone, and that was how well she knows him.

You cannot date someone for four years and not get to know them pretty well -- Jesse knew her, too. Of course he did; he knew her better than most people... But maybe he hadn’t known her enough to know that this was coming. She can’t blame him, though. She hadn’t expected this, herself. 

“Jesse,” she chokes out his name and there’s tears prickling her eyes already, blurring her vision. She feels horrible. Truly, truly horrible. The last thing she wanted was to hurt Jesse, but she was Beca, and she was selfish and impulsive. Jesse had made her a better person, he had made her realize sometimes she had to let people in -- without realizing it, he had prepared her for Hilda. She doesn’t think any of this would have happened if Jesse hadn’t helped her to be the person who she is today.

She can’t tell him that. He’d never understand. He’d be angry. And hurt. That would be a horrible thing to tell someone.

She can hear him taking a deep breath through the phone, getting ready to say something but he’s not quite sure what, or how to even start, so Beca starts, for him: “Listen, before you say anything, please... Please know that I am sorry. I really am. So sorry. I never meant to hurt you and I really hope that you know that.”

“But I am hurt, Beca. Nothing you say will ever make it hurt less, or make it okay. You cheated on me. You lied. You weren’t just my girlfriend, you were my best friend, and I thought you’d have a little more respect for me--”  
  
”I do, I never intentionally meant to--”  
  
”No, just listen to me, Beca. We’re over, we’ve been over since this... started, but I just want you to sit and think about what you did. What you threw away. Is an adventure really worth losing what we had?”  
  
Before she had a chance to make her case, he hung up, leaving her mouth open and at a loss for words and... Well, everything. She hurt her best friend, and she feels awful. So awful. She’s been living some sort of fairy tale with Hilda and now she just crash landed in reality. How is she going to cope with the knowledge that she wrecked the best relationship she has ever had with another human being in her life? She doubts Jesse will ever forgive her, ever even look at her again. They’ve always been so honest with one another. Trust was an important thing to them. To Beca. She pushed people away because she didn’t trust them... And she pushed Jesse away. It took a while to trust him.

Now she’s lost him, forever, and it’s all entirely her fault. No one else is to blame for this; she made the decision to fall into the black hole that was Hilda, and whatever was happening between them.  
  
Her head was pounding, and she didn’t even notice the tears that were already running down her pale cheeks. It hadn’t occurred to her yet that she has no idea where she is and that Hilda is waiting for her in their hotel room. This wasn’t a normal weekend for her, at all. There had been too many emotions, high and low, too many things to try and make sense of. Truth of the matter is that she’s more lost and confused than anyone else regarding her own behavior, her own feelings. If anyone asked her what was happening, what she felt, why she was doing what she was doing... she wouldn’t be able to answer them. 

And that is very unlike her.  
  
There is one person to blame for all of this: Hilda.   
Hilda is the phenomena that is happening to her, the reason why everything around her seems to be crumbling, everything that she’s built for four years, just... coming apart. The Bellas got their ass kicked, her internship wasn’t going too great because she wasn’t as focused as she had been before, and her relationship had just fallen apart. But even then, she can’t bring herself to be mad at Hilda, or regret any of the choices that have led to her being right where she is, right now.

“Tiny mouse?”

Beca looks up to find Hilda standing in front of her, looking down at her with a genuine expression of worry on her perfect face. “You... you are crying. Why are you crying, tiny mouse? Who do I have to hurt for hurting you?”   
  
She hears herself laughing but doesn’t feel amusement, at all. In fact, she feels something else. Empty but not, at the same time. “Myself.” It surprises her, it seems, more than it does Hilda when she starts to cry. And it surprises her even more when Hilda reacts faster than she seemed to realize that she was crying, because when she did, it was only because the other woman’s arms were around her body, holding her close. It was only because she felt safe. Warm. And it was with ease that she fell into her embrace, buried her face into Hilda’s chest, hearing the drum of her heart beating. 

This felt different than the sex, than the colourful butterflies in the pit of her stomach. This felt more intimate than touching Hilda in places that made her moan and laying naked with her in bed. Allowing Hilda to see her like this, exposed in a way that even her naked flesh didn’t show, was intimate, and she didn’t back away, didn’t feel frightened. She welcomed it. Embraced it. Drowned, in it. 

And she didn’t want to be safe.

* * *

 

“So your parents always knew?”   
  
Beca was laying on her stomach, her chin resting over the back of her hand as she watched the newswoman report the day’s weather. Watched because the volume was very low, and only her mouth was moving; they were listening to one of Beca’s mixed songs from her phone, which she had put on Airplane mode. Hilda’s orders. Hilda, had disappeared for half an hour or so, and came back with paint and a few brushes, claiming she found a very poor arts and crafts section at the gift store in the nearby town -- at first she hadn’t been sure what the German had been planning, but as she told Beca to undress, and when Beca gave her a look, she laughed and said: “Not for that,” Beca was starting to grow suspicious and...  
  
Well, that’s how she finds herself as a sort of human canvas.  

At first she had been really hesitant about it, but Hilda claimed that it was therapeutic for her, and that it would be for Beca, too. And she hadn’t been wrong. The feel of the brushes caressing her skin and even of the paint drying, was nice, and incredibly soothing. She has no idea what Hilda is drawing, but she likes the idea of it being a surprise.

“My mother said that she always had her suspicious. My father said he always knew. I do not think they were... Disappointed... I have never shown much interest in boys. Mother says I used to say they were tedious, even as a young child,” she hummed her laugh and could very well imagine a tiny blonde Hilda with a hand on her hip telling all young boys that they were boring and not worth her time. “My first kiss was with a boy, however. Not very pleasant.”

Her first hadn’t, either. “Mine was my cousin, Erika. I don’t think it counted as a real kiss, but we did think it counted...” She had never told anyone that, and she could hear Hilda laughing. That very low sound that made the hairs on her skin stand up. “I am not surprised.”

* * *

 

“I feel stupid, Hilda. This is stupid. Why are we doing this? I’m not even-- oh my God, Hilda!” And there she goes, twirling and trying to keep up with the dancing. It was too fast, too loud, too much. What day of the week is it? What time of the day? She’s not sure about anything any more expect that she’s wearing a dress that’s not hers and a size too big, someone else’s boots and she’s dancing to country music, her hands holding on to Hilda’s and then passed on to a stranger’s. 

There’s the sound of laughter in her ear and hands touching her waist, and she’s not sure if it’s the vodka or just the sweaty, barbecued infected smell of the stuffy room but she feels dizzy, like the whole world is fast-forward spinning on its axis.   
  
”I wanna go home!” She yells through very loud music to a laughing and clearly very drunk Hilda, but she doesn’t even seem to hear her as she picks her up in her arms and kisses her. Very bad idea, she wants to yell at her but her mouth is too busy and no one really seems to care. It’s too dark and stuffy and no one really cares so why should she? Hilda is right. She is too uptight, and in a way that she hadn’t even expected. She thought she was cool and edgy but clearly... she was wrong. 

She learned how to let go with a drunk German.

* * *

 

“Can we stay here? Forever?”  

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah. We could be one of those people that buys a cottage in the middle of the woods and live of the fat of the land or something like that.”  
  
The sound of her laugh had become sweeter than anything else in the world to her. “I do not think either of us would be very content with a life like that, but it does sound very romantic. In a Hollywood way. Very white picket fence, and American.” That, makes Beca look from the beautiful, star-filled sky up at the blonde, who had been staring at her the whole time. Her cheeks flushed and she playfully gave her a little push, and was bought closer by a longer arm, her lips kissed until she forgot whose air she was breathing.

“Let’s never go back,” her breathless voice whispered into the kiss, and Hilda replied, in a husky German: “ _Not ever, tiny mouse_.” 

* * *

 

There was a smile on her lips before she even opened her eyes.  
  
The sun was kissing her face, yet she longed for those soft lips that had become a drug, to her. Something she was addicted to, something she was _haunted_ by. Slowly, she opened her eyes, sat up, not bothering to cover her chest, stretching and yawning. Every muscle in her body ached in a very pleasant way, that way your body hurts when you’ve slept too much. She felt happy. Content. She went to bed and woke up with butterflies in her stomach, and she had no idea what day of the week it was or even what year.  
  
He’s never seen her this happy, this care free.   
  
This was not his girlfriend, or rather, ex. The girl he had fallen in love with four years ago. The girl that hid behind her punk make up and her electronic music and mash ups. This was someone who would’ve given Cinderella, love-dovey post Prince Charming Cinderella, a run for her money.  

He couldn’t say anything, even as she scanned the room for her, and when she found herself alone, she started panicking. “Hilda?” This was hurting him in a way he hadn’t expected it to hurt. He had hoped, albeit foolishly, that he wouldn’t care. That he’d be glad to see her hurt. But he’s not. “She’s not here, Beca,” her eyes widened and she moved to cover her naked body as she saw him sat in the corner, by the window. He had been the one to push back the curtains, let the sun in.

“What-- Jesse... What... Where’s...”  
  
He simply walked towards her, and placed the note on the bed in front of her. “I’ll go get the booze.” He was gone before she even unfolded the note; he stood outside the door for a minute, heard her throw something against the wall, and left with a sigh, his hands in his pockets.

He had hoped she’d realize the mistake she made... But not like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is so late. I've been a bit stuck about how to continue this story, but I hope that this chapter was worth the wait! What do you guys think happened to Hilda?! Let me know what you think. Reviews really do inspire me!


	8. Chapter 8

If there was one thing Beca had always been good at, it was pretending to be okay when everything is falling apart inside of her.

There was no way she could possibly pretend to be okay, right now. There was no way that she could brush this off with a sarcastic comment or a joke, or simply walk away and pretend that it never happened. It did happened. A lot. Everywhere. For a few days. Long enough for it to be more than a thing. It happened long enough to leave a significant open wound on her heart as she tried to wrap her brain around what was happening.

Her hands were trembling a little, and there were tears running down her cheeks, but apart from all of that, she was incredibly still. Of course, she threw the ash tray, which was glass and vintage, by the looks of it, against the wall, but she was composed, right now. The storm was mostly brewing inside.

The words didn't really register in her mind, all she could understand right now was what was written at the bottom of the page: _May we meet again when the time is right_. As if that made things any clearer, as if it hurt any less, as if it made it okay, at all. Just a few hours ago she had been kissing her, just a few hours ago she fell asleep in her arms, her perfume intoxicating her, her dreams, her world, everything was Hilda. And now all she had, was a stupid note in her hand.

There was nothing she left behind, she took everything. Or the little that they had bought along with them. Even the things they purchased together, it was all... gone. It was almost as if nothing had happened, as if they hadn't lived a life time in that room, like time hadn't stopped for her like it had for Beca.

She doesn't know how long she sat on that bed, in the same position, the note in her hands, staring at the words but incapable of making sense of them. Jesse came in at some point, he spoke to her, helped her get changed, helped her pack her things, helped her get into his car. Helped her when she had betrayed him. The note was crumbled up in her hand and she was watching the trees fly by; the same road she had travelled with Hilda a week ago, according Jesse. She had been gone a long, yet it felt like a year, yet it didn't feel like enough - even know, she would have forgiven Hilda if she appeared in her motorcycle right in front of him, she would have taken her back (had she ever been hers, even for a minute?) she would have... she would have broken down, definitely. In front of her, of Jesse, of God and the damned trees. Why were there so many of them?

The way back seemed longer than the week she spent with Hilda in that hotel room. Everything seemed longer, colder. There were less colours. The trees were a paler green, the skies an ugly grey. Her nails were longer and the purple colour Hilda had painted on her nails was beginning to chip away. Jesse speaks but she hears him as if she was underwater and he was above ground.

Distant. In a far, far, away land.

At least she's stopped crying. She's in a different phase of processing this, but she is processing it. Jesse has stopped trying to communicate, and she's thankful for that. He only asks her questions she can answer with a shake of her head, and all she does is shake her head.

 _Do you need to pee._  
Do you want something to drink.  
Are you okay.  
Beca.

_Here, eat this._

_Say something, Beca.  
You like this song._

"I'm going to kill her," that she hears, clearly. She whips her head round to stare at Jesse with wild eyes. "No." The word is spoken through a broken voice of a girl she doesn't recognise, and Jesse stops the car at a red light, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. He sighs, eventually, nods his head, and she thanks him silently, with a look, a look that he'd understand, but he wouldn't look at her, and she didn't blame him.

She was all over her. Her hair, her hands, her mouth, her clothes, her heart. All over.

The trip back was long, so long, and they only arrived at night time.

All the girls were waiting for her downstairs. They all hugged her, asking her simple questions. She had this trained smile on her face, she apologised briefly, thanked Jesse, grabbed the small backpack she didn't even know Jesse had bought, and threw herself head first on her bed.

It was then that she started to cry. Her shoulders and body shook and the tears just wouldn't stop coming. She had never felt like this. Never felt anything remotely close to this. How could someone who had made her feel so amazing, so good, so loved, so wanted, make her feel like this? Like she couldn't breathe because she wasn't close, like the world was about to end because she didn't want her any more? What was this feeling, why wouldn't it stop. She's not this girl, this girl that cries hours and hours on end about someone who doesn't want her, someone who hurt her.

She's the girl who tells the girl who cries about heartbreak to man up, to stop whining, to get out of bed and go face the world. Plenty of fish in the sea, she'd say mockingly. But there wasn't. There was no fish in all the seas she wanted more, than Hilda.

And that made her hate herself in a way she didn't even think she could hate herself.

As if it was her fault that she felt this way.

She was so lost in her own thoughts, drowning in her misery and pain, that she didn't even hear Fat Amy coming in. She felt her warm arms around her body, and she hadn't realised how starved of contact she had been. Hilda and her hadn't kept their hands off of each other for a whole week, and now she spent hours without even talking, looking, kissing. So she leaned into Fat Amy, cried into her shoulder.

The friendly hand rubbing her back, shushing her, making her laugh through choked tears was welcome, and it was what kept her grounded, which was what she needed, right now. She needed to come back from Cloud Hilda and return to Earth, where it was safe and cynical and her. She needed to get back to herself.

* * *

All she needed was to be back with her girls, dive head in to her work, preparing for World, preparing to get the Bellas back on track. They needed her more than ever, and Beca always worked best when her mind and heart were preoccupied. They were right when they said that pain made artists better. But she'd deny being in pain. She'd deny feeling anything at all; she'd say that it was all... an experience, that she wanted to do something crazy, something very unlike her. She wanted to try new things, and that meant running away with their arch-enemy, falling madly in love with her (she tended to skip that part out) and cheating on her long term boyfriend with... who she still hadn't talked to after he had bought her home.

Well, Fat Amy had convinced her to send him a bunch of gifts. Flowers, chocolate, I'm sorry balloons. She wasn't sure if any of it worked, so one night she sent him an email, too, just to be safe. In case he missed all the rest.

No one was talking about what happened, her sudden disappearance. She managed to get back to her internship, and everything seemed to be going back to how it had been before Hilda. That was she and Fat Amy talked about her life. There was before Hilda, and after Hilda. That was the impact that one week had in her life. She was different, now, and everyone seemed to notice. No one ever said whether it was good different or bad different, they just always said... different.

More than ever, now, she was determined to beat Das Sound Machine. There was a point she needed to prove. She avoided talking about them, even hearing D.S.M made her leave the room, in sought of solitude. They were back in Germany, training. They finished their tour so they were... preparing, too, and Beca was determined to end them, absolutely annihilate them, and this was what had united them. Every Bella seemed to have a thirst for vengeance now, for Beca, and that really touched her, more than she'd ever be willing to say out loud.

Even going into Aubrey's camp, there was still this sort of feeling of unity, but they still needed the camp; Beca hadn't told anyone but Fat Amy about anything. They knew that she had something with Hilda but apart from that, the girls had none of the details. As always, Beca wanted her problems to remain a secret until the last minute...

But the camp was the perfect opportunity to come clean, and the quiet need to revenge Beca's broken heart became an union song to make D.S.M and their heartless leader pay for what she done to the cynical, private, closed, closeted bisexual leader of the Bellas.

Chloe, of course, couldn't not say anything, even after everyone's emotional reunion and everything... that night, Chloe asked her inside the bus to talk, and Beca complied. She climbed up the steps leading up to the bus, eating a roasted marshmallow and sipping beer. "What's up?" She said through a full mouth, sitting down so she could stare at Chloe, who was sat facing her, on the seats facing her. Chloe looked very solemn, and that never meant anything good.

Beca swallowed her marshmallow and sipped her beer, wiping her upper lip with the back of her hand as she frowned. "I'm going to ask you something... and I want you to promise to answer me very, very honestly." The least she could do after everything, was give Chloe honesty. Or try, at least. She nodded her head. "I'll... okay." Chloe nodded, she nodded. The silence between them was suffocating, and it was making her feel uncomfortable and fidgety. But the question that broke it didn't help at all.

"Are you in love with the Kommisar?"

In her head, all she could think about was how obvious it was. Everyone else seemed to have caught on, but there was something about the way Chloe looked. Sitting all stiff like, looking as if she was about to explode or break into tears. This was... oh, no. Not now. God. Everyone had always joked about Chlo's crush on her. She always brushed it off. Chloe was gorgeous and popular and older. She dated older girls. Really hot, older guys. She just liked Beca, a lot, and got kind of touchy when she was drunk. That was all.

But it wasn't.

When she thinks things are starting to look up...

Her life seems to have more drama and ups and downs than a Mexican telenovela. Maybe she should write down a few chapters, send it over to a TV channel, see if she can make any money off of that.

The answer to Chloe's question was a very simple yes, so that was what she gave her. The honest truth.

"Yes."

Chloe nodded, opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. She did this for a few minutes before she finally seemed to found the right words. "I don't want you to say anything right now, just listen to me, okay? I know you had something special with her. I could tell from the start, the way you looked at her, the way you acted whenever she was near. It's like one of those romantic comedies you're always making fun of me for watching, you know?" There was a small, humourless laugh. "Anyways, I guess what I'm trying to say is that... I know that what you had with her was really, really intense, even if it was short, and that this kind of love and this kind of thing doesn't go away easily... if ever... and by the looks of it, things with Jesse are never going to be the way they were before and I don't know if you're gay or if it was just the Kommisar that you were into but... well... I..."

Beca saw it coming.

But she was paralysed in her seat, cup of beer in hand, half eaten marshmallow in the other, as her red-haired friend gently cupped her face in her hands and kissed her lips.

She wasn't going to lie and say she didn't enjoy it; she did. She enjoyed it very much. Chloe's lips were very unlike Hilda's. They were soft and she tasted of vanilla. Her hair smelled like lavender, her perfume was one of Britney Spears' good ones. But in her mind, all she could think about was: _You're not Hilda_. She tried. She kissed her back but she couldn't. She turned her face to the side and kept her eyes shut. Chloe lingered. She hadn't drunk anything at all, tonight.

"Think about it. It doesn't have to be now, or any time soon. I can wait. I've waited all this time. For you. For the Bellas. I'll wait... I... think about it."

And she was gone.

Beca opened her eyes and stared at her red plastic cup.

Honestly. Mexican telenovela worthy.

She heard footsteps, and looked up to find Fat Amy's blonde head appearing. "Watchya doing all by your lonesome up in here, Missy?" Beca laughed; actually laughed out loud like a manic as she downed the rest of her beer.

"You would not fucking believe it."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO it's been, what, 84 years since I updated this? I'm so sorry to ALL of you guys, REALLY. I kept meaning to write more but I just... didn't. Well, anyways. I'm determined to get this fic going from now on, and I promise to try to get a chapter up at least once a week. (Though you can expect 2 or 3 in a row because my muse for this fic now is HIGH.) Anyways, here it is, I hope you guys enjoy it. I'll be updating the tags accordingly BUT I'm so new to this whole tagging thing so PLEASE someone don't feel shy to DM me if you have anything to say or add, the last thing I want is upset people over bloody tags. SO, ENJOY. DO let me know what you guys think. As usual, reviews keep me inspired.

“—okay, in all seriousness, I need to ask you this,” Fat Amy looked at her with a serious look on her face. Beca even sat up on her bed with the way she was looking at her. “Uh oh. That can’t be good. Alright. Hit me.” She sipped her hot cocoa, eyebrows furrowed as she looked at her friend and roommate and waited for whatever bomb was going to be thrown at her lap.

Fat Amy herself sat up straighter, turning around on her own bed so that she was facing Beca completely. “What is it about you skinny bitch that makes everyone go crazy about you? I mean, for real! Boys, girls. Everyone wants a piece of Beca! I want to get in on this too!” And then she was jumping over the bed to make her way over to Beca, and all she had time to do was move her mug of hot cocoa aside before she had Fat Amy on top of her, trying to kiss her. The girls were probably going to kill them tomorrow morning. It was two am and Beca was screeching and screaming as she tried to push her best friend off of her, which ended up in them having a pillow fight. Which she lost. As usual, and by four am, she and Fat Amy had made a blanket fort in their bedroom, and they were laid side to side, staring at the neon-stars decorating their ceiling, which were bright enough to be seen through the thick blanket fort they had above their heads. Neither of them seemed to be tired, considering the exhausting weekend they had, and the fact that they had a pretty long drive back home from the camp.

“Are you going to be okay?” Fat Amy’s voice broke the silence after what felt like hours. Beca sighed, more deeply and meaningfully than she meant to. “Honestly? I don’t know. Everything happened so suddenly. I’m still trying to process all of it.” For all of her... _everything_ , Fat Amy was a great listener. And surprisingly wise, most of the time. “For what it’s worth, I still think you’re pretty great. Not to mention, you always have chocolate hidden in your underwear drawer. Which I would know nothing about if asked by the authorities.” Beca laughed quietly, glancing at the girl laid next to her. “Thank you.” Fat Amy looked at her, too. “For stealing your chocolate?” She turned to lay on her stomach so she could look at Fat Amy better. “Yeah, _no_ . We’re going to have to go back to that when I’m thinking logically again, which may be _never_ , but that’s _not_ the point—” Fat Amy laid on her side, head resting on her hand which was supported by her elbow on the floor. “The point is, everyone has been kind of stepping on eggshells around me lately. Everyone except you. And you know, you’ve kept me kind of sane during all of this shitstorm. You’re a pretty good friend, Fat Amy.”

There was a moment of silence, whilst those large eyes of Fat Amy’s were looking at her. Beca’s stomach suddenly dropped, and she looked alarmed. “Yep. Definitely don’t see it. You’re still a skinny oompa-loompa to me.” Beca laughed as she grabbed a pillow and hit Fat Amy over the head with it. “Oh, you are _so_ on, skinny oompa-loompa!”

 

* * *

 

It took a few days, but slowly, things started to go back to normal.

Well, normal-ish. After their trip to Aubrey’s camp, they seemed to find their missing harmony. Jesse was on speaking-terms with her again. It took a few days of text-only communication, and then one night he showed up at their house with popcorn and Harry Potter. Things weren’t exactly ideal between them, but they were friends again. Jesse didn’t talk about what she did or what happened or the state she had been in that first forty-eight hours after It happened, (she started referring to those events as It, as in, Stephen King’s novel It, starring the child-eating clown that traumatised a generation of children) and neither did she. After a very emotional, long email she sent him, she didn’t touch the subject, and she assumes that, eventually, he decided to forgive her. That in no means meant that they were back together or she forgave herself for what she had done to him, oh no. Beca doesn’t think that she wants to be in a relationship for a while. And it would be unfair to Jesse.

She cheated.

That’s something big. Jesse isn’t like most guys who would think that sleeping with a woman wouldn’t really count as cheating. No, he saw it for what it was. Sex, whether it involved a penis or not, was _sex_ . But more than that, what she had with Hilda had been more than just sex. Jesse was perceptive enough to see that there was so much more to their short-lived yet incredibly intense fling... affair? No word or label seemed to fit it, really. But the intimacy they shared went beyond what she and him had _ever_ had, in terms of... well, _sex_. And even other things, too. She confided in Hilda in ways she had never really confided in anyone else.

Things were starting to look up, however.

She and The Legacy had been working on her record. Her first single. Which, went over so well with Chris (her boss) and they were also working on something big, massive, for Worlds. Fat Amy was on her way to amending her relationship with Bumper, and graduation was just around the corner.

There was just one loose end left that was haunting her, that is, along with the suppressed, blocked, _mostly_ , memories of Hilda.

 _Chloe_.

Ever since that night back at the camp, she had been avoiding Chloe like the plague. She felt awful about it, but she couldn’t even look her in the eyes. Her fear, was losing Chloe’s friendship over something so stupid. She made a point out of not letting herself be alone with Chloe. And an even bigger point about not sitting next to her. It made her feel like such a dick, but she really couldn’t deal with the whole Chloe situation on top of everything else. She really couldn’t. Chloe was finally graduating as well, as all of them were leaving and she had no more of excuse to hang around, and she seemed to be doing okay. For the most part. Beca was hoping that they could just kind of... move on without ever remembering that night had happened. But, knowing the pattern of how things have been going lately in her life, she knows that sooner or later, it was all going to come back to bite her in the ass, eventually.

Such as, the morning after Jesse had spent the night over and they both ran into Chloe first thing in the morning, having left-over pizza as breakfast before class.

She made a point of trying to nervously explain to Chloe that she and Jesse had not had sex, and as a matter of fact, as they had a sort of no-boys sleepover rule going on, that they weren’t even back together. Jesse came over with pizza and the Harry Potter box-set and they both just kind of fell asleep halfway through Goblet of Fire, which she kind of hated herself for because it was definitely _the_ best one. Jesse disagreed vehemently with that statement, and thankfully, saved her from her anxiety-induced rambling by starting a heated argument over which Harry Potter movie was the best. Which Beca clearly could not ignore. Dating Jesse for such a long period of time had turned her into a huge nerd, too, apparently.

When Chloe was gone, he made her tell her why things were so awkward between the two of them. And just like that, their relationship was back to what it was.

 _Friend_ -wise, that is.

She knows that it doesn’t really erase how badly she fucked up or made things any better, but they were talking again, and as much as she would never admit it to him or herself, she missed him. Had missed their conversations, his voice. Had missed the warmth, safety and familiarity of someone who had worked so hard to get past her defences. Someone who she had, at some point in the past four years, thought that she was going to be spending the rest of her life with.

Or at least, a decade or something.

But honestly, things with Jessie were so good before that she didn’t really picture a future that he wasn’t a part of. It was weird, then, to think that she was going to have to make plans post-college that didn’t involve him. It was even weirder to think that everything was so different, even though it had only been a couple of weeks.

Now she finally understands Bob Marley: _no woman no cry_. Not very feminist of her, but what it took was a woman for her to truly experience the searing pain of a heart truly broken.

By the time they were ready for Worlds, she was almost herself again.

Fat Amy claimed that she was finally present, as in, she no longer found that she was talking to herself because Beca had checked out and was thinking about something else completely. Something German and breathtaking. Things got so good at work. Chris started letting her pitch in more, and, as her internship neared its end, he offered her an actual job. She was holding on to the news till after Worlds, but God, she could barely contain her excitement.

Truth was, her plans had been to move to L.A, and after Hilda, the further away she moved from the memories of where It all happened, the better it would have been for her, but with the promise of a job with Chris, her relationship with Jesse back to a sort of steady rhythm again, not to mention all of the other girls... it seemed stupid to let all of that go and try to build something new in L.A. Her father had promised to help her if she decided to do it, and she really appreciated how supportive he has been. He was right, of course he was, although she’d never openly admit that, and College and the Bellas have really made her a better person. She wasn’t going to look back on this experience thirty years from now and regret it. In fact, she bets she’s going to be glad that her father made her go through with this. Really glad.

Beca thought that the world was going to end after Hilda and the way she behaved. She really thought that she had screwed everything over and that there was nothing she could do to fix... anything. Her relationship with Jesse, her internship, school, the Bellas, and Chloe. But, everything seemed to be okay. Hilda came and Hilda left and now she was rebuilding things. It’s amazing what a few days can do to your life, to your inner self. Beca learned more about herself with Hilda than she ever had with even her music or Jesse and that was something that she was thankful for. As much as it hurt to think about her, to remember her smell, the colour of her eyes, the way she laughed and the sound of her voice singing in the shower, the acoustics making it all so funny and beautiful... she knows that she was going to appreciate all of it even more than she does now, one day.

One day.

It’s been f months, according to Jesse, but, she’s not as angry as she was any more. Fat Amy says that there’s Five Stages to getting over someone, just like there are Five Stages of Grief. They first was Heartbreak: you feel like the world is going to end and you just want to die. Then there’s Anger: you hate him or her. You hate yourself. You hate the world, you hate love, you hate everything. Then there’s Binge-Eating/Drinking, a New Hair-Do, Hooking up with your stupid Ex, whatever: you do something life-changing or just plain stupid. And then there’s... shit, what was the rest? Something about being able to accept that you fucked up and you were played and maybe getting a tattoo or something?

Yeah, something like that.

Beca didn’t get a hair-cut or hooked up with Jesse but she did eat a lot of brownies. A lot. Like, a stupid amount. Maybe two hundred or something. And there were no plans of getting a tattoo. No way. So maybe she was moving on to stage four? She supposed stage five was Acceptance. And moving on, maybe? God, she couldn’t even picture moving on. What was she, now? Bisexual? Gay? That was a problem she was going to have to come to terms with, eventually.

Was she really gay-gay and have just been lying to herself about her attraction to men thus far? Though, had it really ever been an attraction? Beca had two serious boyfriends before Jesse and sex had never really been something she was excited about. Not the way that she became with Hilda. With Hilda, it felt like her first time, like she was discovering what sex was for the first time. So, this was difficult for her. Having to come to terms with not only everything that had happened and how quickly it had happened, like, getting over someone you knew for a couple of days and fell in love in a minute, but also having to come to terms with her new found sexuality.

So there was really only one way to deal with all of this: music.

She was putting a lot of effort into making her stuff... original, now. She was spending an awful lot of time with Emily. She was incredible with words, and Beca was amazing with beats, so putting the two of them together was like magic. Not to mention, the girl was adorable and awkward and pretty. For a minute there, she almost thought about Emily in a different way. For a second. It was a sort of: Hey, you’re cute. But it went away as fast as it came. Jesse had said something about Benji having a thing for Emily and honestly, she didn’t want to break someone else’s heart.

But, they were spending a lot of time together. The previous four nights, she had spent in Emily’s room. They were working on that song for Worlds, which was going to be so big, with all the previous generations of Bellas. getting involved and everything else. They had to get so much right. It was a lot of pressure, and working with Emily made things a lot easier. Maybe she was gay, or maybe she just liked hanging out with pretty girls. Nothing wrong with that, right? No, no. See, this is Stage Three. Or was it Four? Fuck. No. They were working over the chorus again, Beca with her laptop and Emily rambling on about notes or something. But, when she started having these kinds of thoughts about the girl, she decided to just bolt and leave. Of course, she did it smoothly. God, the last thing she needed was The Legacy thinking she was acting weird and skittish around her, especially considering how much they were working on all of these arrangements and what not. Normally she’d go over this stuff with Chloe, but, since she’s avoiding Chloe like the plague... funny, sometimes she’d have not-so-straight thoughts about Chloe, too, but with Chloe it was different. She knew for a fact that Chloe actually wanted this, whatever it was, way before Chloe admitted anything or kissed her and just— fuck. She was lonely, wasn’t she? This was what this was. Sexually confusion mingled with frustration and loneliness. That’s it.

Or so she tells herself. So, she told Emily she had to get up early for work tomorrow seeing as this was her last week and all, and bid the girl goodnight. With her laptop in hand, she stepped out of the room, laughing about how adorably cute Emily sounded like... all the time, until she shut the door and saw Chloe standing right there, looking at her like that angry-Mum look on her face and her arms crossed over her chest.

 _Fuck_.

“Hey, Ch—”

“Shut it, alright? Don’t even start. I’m— seriously, Beca? You’re working on arrangements with The Legacy, who’s been here for what, like, a day?”

“No, it’s her song, I mean, it’s on—”

“It’s not okay! First you pretend that you don’t even know me, and now you have someone else doing my job. Our job! This was our thing, Beca!”

Chloe looked like she was about to start crying, and as much as she was a real dick sometimes, Beca couldn’t handle other girls crying. It was like her kryptonite. She’d often do anything she could to stop the crying. So she stepped towards Chloe, awkwardly grabbing hold of her arm, looking up at her ginger friend with an exasperated look on her face. She really has no clue what she’s doing. With anything, any more. “Hey, listen to me. Hey, Chloe. Come on. It’s not what you think, okay? It’s her song. That’s all. I mean, we did a record together, y’know? I kinda have to work with her on this one. Sure, we could’ve involved you in it and that’s mainly my fault, but you know... with everything that’s happened, I just...” Chloe had gone eerily still and quiet, her eyes on Beca, barely blinking. “You’ve been avoiding me. No, don’t even think about denying it, Beca. You have been avoiding me. Is it because of that night in the bus? Because, I mean, maybe I moved in too soon or maybe, I just—”  
  
Everything happened too quick.

One minute Chloe was rambling and quite frankly, Beca had stopped listening a few minutes ago, and the next, her mouth was on Chloe’s.

This is just how she first kissed Hilda.

Was it a pattern with her, now? Kissing women like this? Well, who cares. She certainly doesn’t, not any more. She’s not in a relationship, and she sure as hell isn’t romantically involved with anyone else. Chloe’s single, and more than willing... so why not? The voice of reason within her is screaming that _maybe because she never really felt that way about Chloe_ , to begin with, but she’s not listening to that, right now. Chloe is more than eager to kiss her back, and there’s no struggle or fight, at all. They move smoothly over each other, her tongue begging entrance into Chloe’s mouth, coaxing her tongue into a sensual, passionate dance, as hands start tugging at clothes, their bodies moving with an eagerness that was maddening.

She’s not sure where she lost her shoes or her jeans or even her bra, but before she knows what’s what, she’s laid on Chloe’s bed, staring at her ceiling, as ginger hair is lost between her legs. The contrast of red against her milky pale flesh is such a beautiful sight, and she wonders if anyone else ever thought about that. Chloe’s bed is incredibly soft, and she’s got stuffed animals on her bed. Her pillows smell like lavender, and her bedsheets are so clean.

Chloe’s tongue is inside her and she shuts her eyes, her fingers finding her hair. It feels different. For one, it’s too curly, and not soft enough. She can slid her fingers through the strands and feel the silky texture caressing her skin. And Chloe is too eager, too hungry, lapping at Beca like she’s the last Oreo. She’s not really complaining, so much as she’s comparing. As lonely and sad and horny as she is, Chloe doesn’t feel the way that _she_ did. But Chloe was warm, and Chloe smelled nice, and Beca needed something to numb that constant ache in her chest.

She’s selfish, remember? And a dick.

Speaking of which...

Her hand grabbed hold of Chloe’s hair and she switched their positions, slamming her body down on the bed so she could straddle her. The pure glee and tenderness in her blue eyes was hurting Beca. She knew that she’d regret in this morning. She felt it as she kissed Chloe’s lips and fucked her like it was their last night on earth.

After they were done and Chloe cuddled up to her to fall asleep, Beca laid awake in her bed and whispered Hilda’s name in her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T WORRY. THIS WON'T BECOME BECHLOE, OKAY?!!!!! I just figured this was bound to happen at some point, so I decided to get it out of the way. (See how I skimmed through the smut, lmao?) Poor Chloe though, am I right? Beca is on a self-destructive path. Damn that Hilda.


End file.
